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OPINIONS 
ON    THE    NEW   TIMON. 


"The  New  Timon  is  a  composition  which  displays  both  beauty  and  power. 
It  belongs  to  the  school  of  Crabbe." — Literary  Gazette. 

"The  work  of  a  practised  as  well  as  powerful  hand — there  is  keen,  terse 
writing,  a  masculine  discrimination  of  character,  and  bold  expression.  The 
design  of  the  poem  is  original,  and  the  author  shows  himself  equal  to  a  most 
impressive  and  spirited  execution  of  it.  There  has  not  been  better  writing  in 
this  special  vein  and  manner  since  Churchill." — Examiner. 

"This  is  truly  a  magnificent  poem,  and  can  be  treated  with  no  cold  voice 
of  criticism.  In  sentiment  it  is  noble  and  lofty,  pure  and  elevating ;  its 
accents  fall  like  manna  on  the  heart.  We  have  already  spoken  of  the  earlier 
portions,  but  the  Third  and  Fourth  Parts,  now  before  us,  fill  our  minds  with 
surprise  and  gratification.  'The  New  Timon'  will  bear  comparison  with  any 
one  of  the  poetic  tales  of  Byron;  and  we  say  advisedly,  justice  will  not  Ise 
done  to  this  noble  work  of  genius,  if  lasting  fame  be  not  granted'to"  its  authcS".  ' 
Yes ;  a  great  poet  is  at  length  before  the  world.  '  The  New  Timon'  will 
become  a  standard  study  beside  Byron.  It  has  much  of  his  keen  and  subtle 
wit — his  elegant  flow — his  rapid  perception.  The  author  has  many  of  the 
first  requisites  of  his  art.  His  mind  is  elevated  and  pure;  his  diction  terse, 
vigorous,  and  mellifluous ;  there  is*  thoughtj  i;^eality,  in  his  lines ;  and,  in 
addition,  a  quality  which  in  these  days  will  be  a  great  recommendation,  his 
narrative  is  full  of  interest.  There  is  much,  too,*  of  satire,  keen,  caustic,  and 
severe — witness  that  on  O'Connell.  In  a  word,  we  think,  'The  New  Timon' 
a  production  which  will  have  a  wide  and  lasting  reputation." — Hood's 
Magazine. 

"  One  of  the  most  remarkable  poems  of  the  present  generation — remarkable 
in  a  threefold  degree — its  conception  being  strictly  original — its  language  and 
imagery  new — its  tendency  eminently  moral.  It  has  beauties  of  no  ordinary 
lustre:  the  animus  of  the  work  is  essentially  humanizing,  its  plot  ingenious, 
and  its  effect  altogether  bold,  harmonious,  and  original.  No  poem  of  equal 
length  has  issued  from  the  English  press  for  a  number  of  years,  with  anything 
approaching  to  the  ability  of  'The  New  Timon,' — it  augurs  a  resuscitation  of 
our  Bardic  glories.  The  poem  combines  the  characteristics  of  Crabbe  and 
Byron.  Many  of  its  descriptive  passages  smack  of  that  genuineness  and 
truth  which  rendered  '  The  Borough'  so  popular.  The  resemblance,  on  the 
other  hand,  which  it  bears  to  the  style  of  Byron,  is,  if  possible,  more  conspi- 
cuous ;  the  forcefulness  of  its  expressions,  the  energy  of  its  allusions,  its 
alternate  sarcasm  and  sentiment,  recalling  to  our  memory,  at  every  page, 
'  Childe  Harold,'  and  '  The  Age  of  Bronze.'  We  may  point  in  an  especial 
manner  to  the  author's  originality  in  analyzing  some  of  our  most  remarkable 
political  characters,  including  the  Premier,  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  Lord 
Stanley,  Sir  Robert  Peel,  O'Connell,  &c.  The  introduction  of  these  clever 
sketches  of  our  contemporary  rulers  tends  considerably  to  render  the  other 
portions  of  the  romance  doubly  piquant  and  zestful.  That  '  The  New  Timon ' 
is  the  production  of  no  inexperienced  pen,  and  that  the  author  is  no  obscure 
observer  of  the  social  or  political  advancement  of  the  age,  is  evidenced  in 
every  paragraph." — Sun. 


/hr.  t  tfcy 


THE 

NEW    T  I  M  0  N. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  LONDON. 

BY  Sm  E.  BULWER  LYTTON. 

AUTHOR  OF  "PELHAM,"  "  RIENZI,"  "  PAUL  CLIFFORD,"  ETC.  ETC. 

THIRD  AMERICAN, 

FROM  THE  FOURTH  LONDON  EDITION, 
CORRECTED. 


o  a      a       }    t       o 
'    ,     J     ,  >    >    J      ,  :. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
CAREY    AND     HART, 

CHESTNUT    STREET. 
1849. 


iH'jLA'/)E/.cPHIAi 

19  St.  James  Street. 


PREFACE/ 


The  motives  that  induced  me  to  publish  anonymously 
the  first  portion  of  "  Arthur/'  as  well  as  the  "New  Timon," 
are  simple  enough  to  be  easily  recognised.  An  author  who 
has  been  some  time  before  the  public,  feels,  in  undertaking 
some  new  attempt  in  his  vocation,  as  if  released  from  an 
indescribable  restraint,  when  he  pre-resolves  to  hazard  his 
experiment  as  that  of  one  utterly  unknown.  That  determi- 
nation gives  at  once  freedom  and  zest  to  his  labours  in  the 
hours  of  composition,  and  on  the  anxious  eve  of  publication 
restores  to  him  much  of  the  interest  and  pleasurable  excite- 
ment, that  charmed  his  earliest  delusions.  When  he  es- 
capes from  the  judgment  that  has  been  passed  on  his 
manhood,  he  seems  again  to  start  fresh  from  the  expecta- 
tions of  his  youth. 

In  my  own  case,  too,  I  believed,  whether  truly  or  erro- 
neously, that  my  experiment  would  have  a  fairer  chance 
of  justice,  if  it  could  be  regarded  without  personal  reference 
to  the  author : — and  at  all  events  it  was  clear,  that  I  myself 
could  the  better  judge  how  far  the  experiment  had  failed 
or  succeeded,  when  freed  from  the  partial  kindness  of  those 

*  An  extract  from  the  Preface  to  "  King  Arthur,"  by  Sir  E.  Bul- 
wer  Lytton,  published  by  Henry  Colburn,  London,  1849. 


411351 


Vi  PREFACE. 

disposed  to  overrate,  or  the  predetermined  censure  of  those 
accustomed  to  despise,  my  former  labours. 

These  motives  were  sufficient  to  decide  me  to  hazard 
unacknovrledged  those  attempts  which  the  pubHc  has  not 
ungraciously  received.  And,  indeed,  I  should  have  been 
well  contented  to  have  preserved  the  mask,  if  it  had  not 
already  failed  to  insure  the  disguise.  My  identity  with  the 
author  of  these  poems  has  been  so  generally  insisted  upon, 
that  I  have  no  choice  between  the  indiscretion  of  frank 
avowal,  and  the  effrontery  of  flat  denial.  Whatever  influ- 
ence of  good  or  ill,  my  formal  adoption  of  these  foundlings 
may  have  upon  their  future  career,  like  other  adventurers 
they  must  therefore  take  their  chance  in  the  crowd.  Happy 
if  they  can  propitiate  their  father's  foes,  yet  retain  his 
friends;  and,— irrespective  of  either,— sure  to  be  judged, 
at  last,  according  to  their  own  deserts. 

E.  BULWER  LYTTON. 

January,  1849. 


THE  NEW  TIMON 


PART  THE  FIRST. 
I. 


O'er  royal  London,  in  luxuriant  May, 
While  lamps  yet  twinkled,  dawning  crept  the  day. 
Home  from  the  hell  the  pale-eyed  gamester  steals ; 
Home  from  the  ball  flash  jaded  Beauty's  wheels ; 
The  lean  grimalkin,  who,  since  night  began. 
Hath  hymn'd  to  love  amidst  the  wrath  of  man. 
Scared  from  his  raptures  by  the  morning  star, 
Flits  finely  by,  and  threads  the  area  bar; 
From  fields  suburban  rolls  the  early  cart ; 
As  rests  the  revel,  so  awakes  the  mart. 
Transfusing  Mocha  from  the  beans  within, 
Bright  by  the  crossing  gleams  the  alchemic  tin, — 


8  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

There  halts  the  craftsman ; — there,  with  envious  sigh, 
The  houseless  vagrant  looks,  and  limps  foot-weary  by. 
Behold  that  street ; — the  Omphalos  of  Town  !* 
Where  the  grim  palace  wears  the  prison's  frown, 
As  mindful  still,  amidst  a  gaudier  race. 
Of  the  veil'd  Genius  of  the  mournful  Place — 
Of  floors  no  majesty  but  Grief's  had  trod. 
And  weary  limbs  that  only  knelt  to  God  !f 

What  tales — what  morals  of  the  elder  day — 
If  stones  had  language — could  that  street  convey  ! 
Along  that  space  the  blood-hound  crowd  array'd 
Howl'd  round  the  shrine  where  last  the  Stuart  pray'd  ;t 

^  A  phrase  respectfully  suggested  to  the  classic  taste  of 
Mr.  George  Robins,  as  a  substitute  for  the  more  prosaic 
synonym — "  a  central  situation." 

t  Where  now  stands  St.  James's  Palace  stood  the  hospital 
dedicated  to  St.  James,  for  the  reception  of  fourteen  leprous 
maidens. 

X  Charles  the  First  attended  divine  service  in  the  Royal 
Chapel  immediately  before  he  walked  through  the  park  to 
his  scaffold  at  Whitehall.  In  the  palace  of  St.  James's, 
Monk  and  Sir  John  Granville  schemed  for  the  restoration 
of  Charles  II, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  9 

See  to  that  space  the  self-same  blood-hounds  run 
To  lick  the  feet  of  Stuart's  viler  son ! 
There,  through  the  dusk-red  towers — amidst  his  ring 
Of  Vans  and  Mynheers — rode  the  Dutchman  king  ; 
And  there — did  England's  Goneril  thrill  to  hear 
The  shouts  that  triumphed  o'er  her  crownless  Lear ! 
There,  where  the  gaslight  streams  on  Crock  ford's  door, 
Bluff  Henry  chuckled  at  the  jests  of  More. 
There,  where  you  gaze  upon  the  last  H.  B., 
Swift  paused,  and  muttered,  "  Shall  I  have  that  see  1" 
There,  where  yon  pile,  for  party's  common  weal, 
Knits  votes  that  serve,  with  hearts  abhorring.  Peel, 
Blunt  Walpole  seized,  and  roughly  bought  his  man ; — 
Or,  tired  of  Polly,  St.  John  lounged  to  Anne. 

Well,  let  the  world  change  on, — still  must  endure 
While  Earth  is  Earth — one  changeless  race — the  Poor  ! 
Within  that  street,  on  yonder  threshold  stone, 
What  sits  as  stone-like  1 — Penury,  claim  thine  own  ! 
She  sate  the  homeless  wanderer, — with  calm  eyes 
Looking  thro'  tears,  yet  lifted  to  the  skies  ; 
Wistful  but  patient — sorrowful  but  mild. 
As  asking  God  when  He  would  claim  his  child. 


10  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

A  face  too  youthful  for  so  hush'd  a  grief; — 
The  worm  that  gnawed  the  core  had  spared  the  leaf; 
Tho'  worn  the  cheek,  with  hunger  or  with  care, 
Yet  still  the  soft  fresh  childlike  bloom  was  there  ; 
And  each  might  touch  you  with  an  equal  gloom, 
The  youth,  the  care,  the  hunger,  and  the  bloom  ; — 
As  if,  when  round  the  cradle  of  the  child 
With  lavish  gifts  the  gentler  fairies  smiled, 
One  vengeful  sprite,  forgotten  as  the  guest. 
Had  breathed  a  spell  to  disenchant  the  rest. 
And  prove  how  slight  each  favour,  else  divine. 
If  wroth  the  Urganda  of  the  Golden  Mine ! 

Now  as  the  houseless  sate,  and  up  the  sky 
Dawn  to  day  strengthened,  pass'd  a  stranger  by : 
He  saw  and  halted ; — she  beheld  him  not — 
All  round  them  slept,  and  silence  wrapt  the  spot. 
To  this  new  comer  Nature  had  denied 
The  gifts  that  graced  the  outcast  crouch'd  beside : 
With  orient  suns  his  cheek  was  swarth  and  grim, 
And  low  the  form,  tho'  lightly  shaped  the  limb; 
Yet  life  glowed  vigorous  in  that  deep-set  eye, 
With  a  calm  force  that  dared  you  to  defy ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  11 

And  the  small  foot*  was  planted  on  the  stone 
Firm  as  a  gnome's  upon  his  mountain  throne ; 
Simple  his  garb,  yet  what  the  wealthy  wear, 
And  conscious  power  gave  lordship  to  his  air. 

Lone  in  the  Babel  thus  the  maid  and  man ; 

Long  he  gazed  silent,  and  at  last  began  :— 

"  Poor  homeless  outcast — dost  thou  see  me  stand 

Close  by  thy  side — yet  beg  not  1     Stretch  thy  hand." 

The  voice  was  stern,  abrupt,  yet  full  and  deep — 

The  outcast  heard,  and  started  as  from  sleep. 

And  meekly  rose,  and  stretched  the  hand,  and  sought 

To  murmur  thanks — the  murmur  fail'd  the  thought. 

He  took  the  slight  thin  hand  within  his  own  : 

"  This  hand  hath  nought  of  honest  labour  known  ; 

And  yet  methinks  thou'rt  honest  ! — speak,  my  child." 

And  his  face  broke  to  beauty  as  it  smiled. 

^  No  line  in  this  poem  has  called  forth  more  of  the 
dismal  facetiae  of  "  gentle  dulness"  than  the  one  in  which 
the  epithet  '^  small"  is  applied  to  the  foot  of  a  half-caste 
Indian,  as  if  it  were  not  obviously  meant  to  designate  a 
peculiarity  of  race ;  for  the  same  reason  Scott  specially 
notices  the  small  hand  of  Saladin,  and  Cooper  the  long 
narrow  foot  of  tlie  American  Indian. 


12  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

But  her  unconscious  eyes,  cast  down  the  while, 

Met  not  the  heart  that  opened  in  that  smile : 

Again  the  murmur  rose,  and  died  in  air. 

"  Nay,  what  thy  mother  and  her  home,  and  where  1" 

Lo,  with  those  words  the  rigid  ice,  that  lay 

Layer  upon  layer  within,  dissolves  away ; 

And  tears  come  rushing  from  o'ercharged  eyes : — 

"  There  is  my  mother — there  her  home — the  skies !" 

Oh,  in  that  burst,  what  deeps  of  lone  distress  ! 

O  desolation  of  the  motherless  I 

Yet  through  the  anguish  how  survived  the  trust. 

Home  in  the  skies,  though  in  the  grave  the  dust ! 

The  man  was  moved,  and  silence  fell  again; 

Upsprung  the  sun — Light  reassumed  the  reign  ; — 

Love  ruled  on  high  !     Below,  the  twain  that  share 

Men's  builded  empires — Mammon  and  Despair  ! 

At  length,  with  pitying  eye  and  soothing  tone, 

The  stranger  spoke  :  "  Thy  bitterer  grief  mine  own  ; 

Mine  the  full  coffers,  but  the  beggared  heart, 

Amidst  ihe  million,  lonely  as  thou  art. 

But  Gold — earth's  demon,  when  unshared — receives 

God's  breath,  and  grows  a  God,  when  it  relieves.. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  13 

Thou  trusts't  our  common  Father,  orphan  one, 
And  He  shall  guide  thee,  if  thou  trust  the  son. 
Nay,  follow,  child."     And  on,  with  passive  feet. 
Ghost-like,  she  followed  through  the  deathlike  street. 
They  paused  at  last  a  stately  pile  before ; 
The  drowsy  porter  oped  the  noiseless  door ; 
The  girl  stood  wistful  still  without ; — the  pause 
The  guide  divined,  and  thus  rebuked  the  cause : — 
"  Enter,  no  tempter  let  thy  penury  fear. 
We  have  a  sister,  and  her  home  is  here." 

II. 

And  who  the  wanderer  that  hath  shelter  won 
Beneath  the  roof  of  Fortune's  favoured  son  ? 
Ill  stars  predoomed  her,  and  she  stole  to  birth 
Fresh  from  the  Heaven, — Law's  outcast  on  the  earth. 
The  child  of  Love,  betraying  and  betrayed, 
The  blossom  opened  in  the  Upas  shade ; — 
So  ran  the  rumour ;  if  the  rumour  lied, 
The  humble  mother  wept,  but  not  denied : 
Ne'er  had  the  infant's  slumber  known  a  rest 
On  childhood's  native  shield — a  father's  breast. 
2 


14  THE  NEW  TIMON, 

Dead  or  neglectful,  't  was  to  her  the  same : 
But  oh  how  dear — yea,  dearer  for  the  shame, 
All  that  God  hallows  in  a  mother's  name  ! 
Here,  one  proud  refuge  from  a  world's  disdain. 
Here,  the  lost  empress  half  resumes  her  reign ; — 
Here,  the  deep-fallen  Eve  sees  Eden's  skies 
Smile  on  the  desert  from  the  cherub's  eyes. 
Sweet  to  each  human  heart  the  right  to  love ; 
But  't  is  the  deluge  consecrates  the  dove  ; 
And  haply  scorn  yet  more  the  child  endears, 
Cradled  in  misery,  and  baptized  with  tears. 

Each  then  the  all  on  earth  unto  the  other, — 
The  smiling  infant  and  the  erring  mother : 
The  one  soon  lost  the  smile  which  childhood  wears, 
Chill'd  by  the  gloom  it  marvels  at — but  shares ; 
The  other,  by  that  purest  love  made  pure, 
Learn'd  to  redeem,  by  labouring  to  endure : 
Patience  in  penance,  more  than  pain  for  deeds. 
Draws  the  hiv'd  music  from  the  bruised  reeds. 
Hard  was  their  life,  and  lonely  was  their  hearth ; 
There,  kindness  brought  no  holiday  of  mirth ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON,  15 

No  kindred  visited,  no  playmate  came ; — 

Joy — the  proud  worldling — shunned  the  child  of  shame  ! 

Yet  in  the  lesson  which,  at  stolen  whiles, 

'Twixt  care  and  care,  the  respite-hour  beguiles. 

The  mother's  mind  the  polished  trace  betrays 

Of  early  culture  and  serener  days ; 

And  gentle  birth  still  moulds  the  delicate  phrase. 

By  converse,  more  than  books,  (for  books  too  poor,) 

Learn'd  Lucy  more  than  books  themselves  insure  ; 

For  if,  in  truth,  the  mother's  heart  had  err'd, 

Pure  now  the  life,  and  holy  was  the  word : 

The  fallen  state  no  grovelling  change  had  wrought ; 

Meek  if  the  bearing,  lofty  was  the  thought ; 

So  much  of  noble  in  the  lore  instill'd. 

You  felt  the  soul  had  ne'er  the  error  will'd ; — 

That  fraud  alone  had  duped  its  wings  astray 

From  their  true  instincts  to  empyreal  day. 

Thus  life  itself,  if  sad'ning,  still  refined. 

And  through  the  heart  the  culture  reach'd  the  mind. 

As  to  the  moon  the  tides  attracted  move. 

So  wakes  the  intellect  beneath  the  love. — 

To  nurse  the  sickness,  to  assuage  the  care. 

To  charm  the  sigh  into  the  happier  prayer ; 


16  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Forestall  the  unuttered  wish  with  ready  guess  ; 
Wise  in  the  exquisite  tact  of  tenderness ; 
These  Lucy's  study ; — and,  in  grateful  looks, 
Seraphs  write  lessons  more  divine  than  books. 

So  Lucy's  April  opened  into  May — 
Fair  time,  to  Life  frank  Nature's  holiday  ! 
When,  unto  most,  the  imagined  future  seems 
The  ivory  gate  whence  glide  to  shape  the  dreams ; 
When  Love  first  trembles  on  the  prison-bar 
Of  clay ;  and  Hope  flies  fearless  to  the  far — 
Blest  time,  to  most  the  ideal  heaven  of  man — 
With  her  the  Golden  ceased,  the  Iron  Age  began. 

Behold  her  by  the  couch,  on  bended  knees ! 

There  the  wan  mother — there  the  last  disease ! 

Dread  to  the  poor  the  least  suspense  of  health, — 

Their  hands  their  friends, — their  labour  all  their  wealth 

Let  the  wheel  rest  from  toil  a  single  sun. 

And  all  the  humble  clock-work  is  undone. 

The  custom  lost,  the  drain  upon  the  hoard. 

The  debt  that  sweeps  the  fragment  from  the  board, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  17 

How  mark  the  hunger  round  thee,  and  be  brave — 

Foresee  thy  orphan,  and  not  fear  the  grave  ? 

Lower  and  ever  lower  in  the  grade 

Of  penury  fell  the  mother  and  the  maid, 

Till  the  grim  close ;  when,  as  the  midnight  rain 

Drove  to  the  pallet  through  the  broken  pane. 

The  dying  murmured  ;  "  Near, — thy  hand, — more  near! 

I  am  not  what  scorn  deem'd, — yet  not  severe 

The  doom  which  leaves  me  in  the  hour  of  death 

The  right  to  bless  thee  with  my  parting  breath — 

These,  worn  till  now,  wear  thou,  his  daughter.     Live 

To  see  thy  Sire,  and  tell  him — I  forgive !" 

Cold  the  child  thrills  beneath  the  hands  that  press 

Her  bended  neck — slow  slackens  the  caress — 

Loud  the  roof  rattles  with  the  stormy  gust ; — 

The  grief  is  silent,  and  the  love  is  dust ; — 

From  the  spent  fuel  God's  bright  spark  is  flown  ; 

And  there  the  Motherless,  and  Death — alone ! 

Then  fell  a  happy  darkness  o'er  the  mind ; — 
That  trance,  that  pause,  the  tempest  leaves  behind : 
Still,  with  a  timid  step,  around  she  crept. 
And  sighed  "  She  sleeps,"  and  smiled.  Too  well  she  slept ! 
2* 


18  THE  NEW  T1MOA-. 

Dark  strangers  entered  in  the  squalid  cell ; 

Rude  hirelings  placed  the  pauper  in  the  shell ; 

Harsh  voices  questioned  of  the  name  and  age ; 

Ev'n  paupers  live  upon  the  parish  page. 

She  answers  not,  or  sighs,  and  smiles,  and  keeps 

The  same  meek  language  : — "  Hush  !  my  mother  sleeps." 

They  thrust  some  scanty  pence  into  her  palm, 

And  led  her  forth,  scarce  marv'ling  at  her  calm  ; 

And  bade  her  work,  not  beg — be  good,  and  shun 

All  bad  companions — so  their  work  was  done ; 

And  the  wreck  left  to  drift  amidst  the  roar 

Of  the  Great  Ocean  with  the  rocky  shore. 

And  thou  hast  found  a  shelter,  hapless  one ! 
Not  yet  too  late  breaks  on  thy  morn  the  sun ; 
Not  yet  deferr'd  till  Hope  hath  drooped  too  long 
To  plume  the  pinion,  and  to  pour  the  song  : 
Hope — the  sweet  bird  ! — while  that  the  air  can  fill, 
Let  earth  be  ice — the  soul  has  summer  still ! 

Yet  o'er  that  house  there  hung  a  solemn  gloom  ; 
The  step  fell  timid  in  each  gorgeous  room, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  19 

Vast,  sumptuous,  dreary  as  some  Eastern  pile, 
Where  mutes  keep  watch — a  home  without  a  smile. 
Noiseless  as  silence  reigned  there,  like  a  law. 
And  the  cold  luxury  saddened  into  awe ; 
Save  when,  the  swell  of  sombre  festival 
Jarr'd  into  joy  the  melancholy  hall. 
As  some  chance  wind  in  mournful  autumn  wrings 
Discordant  notes,  although  from  music-strings. 
Wild  were  the  wealthy  master's  moods  and  strange. 
As  one  whose  humour  found  its  food  in  change. 
Now  for  whole  days  content  apart  to  dwell 
With  books  and  thought — his  world  the  student's  cell. 
And  now  with  guests  around  the  glittering  board, 
The  hermit-Timon  shone  the  Athenian  lord ; 
There,  bloomed  the  bright  Ephemerals  of  the  Hour, 
Whom  the  fierce  ferment  forces  into  flower, — 
The  gorgeous  nurslings  of  the  social  life. 
Sprung  from  our  hotbeds, — Vanity  and  Strife  ! 
Lords  of  the  Senate,  wrestlers  for  the  state, 
Gray-haired  in  youth,  exhausted,  worn, — and  great; 
Pale  Book-men, — charming  only  in  their  style ; 
And  Poets,  jaundiced  with  eternal  bile ; — 


20  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

All  the  poor  Titans  our  Cocytus  claims, 

With  tortured  livers,  and  immortal  names  : — 

Such  made  the  guests,  Amphitryons  well  may  boast. 

But  still  the  student  travailed  in  the  host; — 

These  were  the  living  books  he  loved  to  read, — 

Keys  to  his  lore,  and  comments  on  his  creed. 

From  them  he  rose  with  more  confirmed  disdain 

Of  the  thorn-chaplet,  and  the  gilded  chain. 

Oft,  from  such  statelier  revels,  to  the  shed 

Where  Hunger  couch'd,  the  same  dark  impulse  led  ; 

Intent,  the  Babel,  Art  has  built,  to  trace, 

Here  scan  the  height,  and  there  explore  the  base ; 

That  structure  call'd  "  The  Civilized,"  as  vain 

As  its  old  symbol  on  the  Shinar  plain. 

Where  Pride  collects  the  bricks  and  slime,  and  then 

But  builds  the  city  to  divide  the  men ; 

Swift  comes  the  antique  curse, — smites  one  from  one, 

Rends  the  great  bond,  and  leaves  the  pile  undone. 

Man  will  oV  muse — when  musing  on  mankind — 
The  vast  expanse  defeats  the  searching  mind, 
Blent  in  one  mass  each  varying  height  and  hue : — 
Wouldst  thou  seize  Nature,  Artist — bound  the  view ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  21 

But  He,  in  truth,  is  banish'd  from  the  ties 
That  curb  the  ardent,  and  content  the  wise  ; 
From  the  pent  heart  the  bubbling  passions  sweep, 
To  spread  in  aimless  circles  o'er  the  deep. 

Still  in  extremes — in  each  was  still  betray 'd 

A  soul  at  discord  with  the  part  it  play'd ; 

A  soul  in  social  elements  misplaced. 

Bruised  by  the  grate  and  yearning  for  the  waste, 

And  wearing  custom,  as  a  Pard  the  chain, 

Now  with  dull  torpor,  now  with  fierce  disdain. 

All  who  approached  him  by  that  spell  were  bound, 
Which  nobler  natures  weave  themselves  around  ; 
Those  stars  which  make  their  own  charm'd  atmosphere  ; 
Not  wholly  love,  but  yet  more  love  than  fear, 
A  mystic  influence,  which,  we  know  not  why. 
Makes  some  on  earth  seem  portions  of  our  sky. 

In  truth,  our  Morvale  (such  his  name)  could  boast 
Those  kinglier  virtues,  which  subject  us  most ; 
The  ear  inclined  to  every  voice  of  grief. 
The  hand  that  oped  spontaneous  to  relief, 


22  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

The  heart,  whose  impulse  stay'd  not  for  the  mind 

To  freeze  to  doubt  what  charity  enjoin'd, 

But  sprang  to  man's  warm  instinct  for  mankind ; 

The  antique  honour,  with  its  nameless  power, 

Which  is  to  virtue,  as  to  plants  the  flower ; 

And  that  true  daring  not  alone  to  those 

Whom  fault  or  fate  has  marshall'd  into  foes  ; 

But  the  rare  valour  that  confronts  with  scorn 

The  monster  shape,  of  Vice  and  Folly  born. 

Which  some  "  the  World,"  and  some  "  Opinion,"  call, 

Ovvn'd  by  no  heart,  and  yet  enslaving  all ; 

The  bastard  charter  of  the  social  state. 

Which  crowns  the  base  to  ostracize  the  great ; 

The  eternal  quack  upon  the  itinerant  stage. 

This  the  «  good  Public,"  that  "  the  enlightened  Age," 

Ready  alike  to  worship  and  revile. 

To  build  the  altar,  or  to  light  the  pile ; 

Now  "  Down  with  Stuart  and  the  Reign  of  Sin," 

Now  "  Long  live  Charles  the  Second  and  Nell  Gwynne;" 

Now  mad  for  patriots — hot  for  revolution. 

Now  all  for  hanging  and  the  Constitution ; 

Honour  to  him,  who  self-complete  and  brave 

In  scorn,  can  carve  his  pathway  to  the  grave, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  23 

And  heeding  nought  of  what  men  think  or  say, 
Make  his  own  heart  his  world  upon  the  way ! 

Such  was  the  better  nature  Morvale  show'd. 
Now  view  the  contrast  which  the  worse  bestow'd. 
Much  had  he  read — yet  all  confused  and  mix'd, 
No  polar  truth  the  wandering  reason  fix'd  ; 
The  fiery  impulse  and  the  kingly  will, 
If  prompt  to  good,  no  judgment  check'd  from  ill ; 
Quick  in  revenge,  and  passionately  proud. 
His  brightest  hour  still  shone  forth  from  a  cloud, 
And  none  conjecture  on  the  next  could  form — 
So  play'd  the  sunbeam  on  the  verge  of  storm. 

Still  young — not  youthful — life  had  pass'd  thro'  all 
Age  sighs,  and  smiles,  and  trembles  to  recall. 
From  childhood  fatherless  and  lone  begun 
His  fiery  race,  beneath  as  fierce  a  sun, 
Where  all  extremes  of  Love  and  Horror  are, 
Soft  Camdeo's  lotos  bark,  grim  Moloch's  gory  car. 
Where  basks  the  noonday  luminously  calm, 
O'er  eldest  grot  and  immemorial  palm  j 


24  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

And  in  the  grot,  the  Goddess  of  the  Dead 
And  the  couch'd  strangler,  list  the  wanderer's  tread, 
And  where  the  palm  leaves  stir  with  breeze-like  sigh, 
Sports  the  fell  serpent  with  his  deathful  eye. 

Midst  the  exuberant  life  of  that  fierce  zone, 
Uncurb'd,  self-will'd,  to  man  had  Morvale  grown. 
His  sire  (the  offspring  of  an  Indian  maid 
And  English  chief,)  whose  orient  hues  betrayed 
The  Varna  Sankara*  of  the  mix'd  embrace, 
Carved  by  his  sword  a  charter  from  disgrace ; — 
Assumed  the  father's  name,  the  Christian's  life, 
And  his  sins  cursed  him  with  an  English  wife : 
A  haughty  dame,  whose  discontented  charms 
That  merchant.  Hymen,  bargained  to  his  arms. 
In  war  he  fell :  his  wife — the  bondage  o'er, 
Loathed  the  dark  pledge  the  abhorred  nuptials  bore — 
Yet  young,  her  face  more  genial  wedlock  won, 
And  one  bright  daughter  made  more  loath'd  the  son. 

*The  Sanscrit  term,  denoting  the  mixture  or  confusion  of 
classes;  applied  to  that  large  portion  of  the  Indian  popula- 
tion excluded  from  the  four  pure  Castes. 


THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Widowed  anew,  for  London's  native  air, 
And  two  tall  footmen,  sigh'd  the  jointured  fair : 
Wealth  hers,  why  longer  from  its  use  exiled  ? — 
She  fled  the  land  and  the  abandoned  child  ; 
Yet  oft  the  first-born,  'midst  the  swarthier  race. 
Gazed  round,  and  miss'd  the  fair  unloving  face. 
In  vain  the  coldness,  nay,  the  hate  had  been. 
Hate,  by  the  eyes  that  love,  is  rarely  seen. 

Yet  more  he  miss'd  the  playmate,  sister-child, 
With  looks  that  ever  on  his  own  had  smiled ; 
With  rosy  lips,  caressing  and  carest ; 
Led  by  his  hand  and  cradled  on  his  breast : 
But,  as  the  cloud  conceals  and  breaks  in  flame, 
The  gloom  of  youth  the  fire  of  man  became. 
Not  his  the  dreams  that  studious  life  allows, 
"  Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs," — 
Dreams  that  to  lids  the  Muse  anoints  belong, — 
Rocking  the  Passions  on  soft  waves  of  song : 
No  poet  he ;  adventure,  wandering,  strife. 
War  and  the  chase,  wrung  poetry  from  life. 
3 


25 


26  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

One  day  a  man  who  call'd  his  father  friend, 
Told  o'er  his  rupees  and  perceived  his  end. 
Life's  business  done — a  million  made — what  still 
Remained  on  earth  1     Wealth's  last  caprice — a  Will ! 
The  man  was  childless — but  the  world  was  wide — 
He  thought  on  Morvale,  made  his  will, — and  died. 
They  sought  and  found  the  unsuspecting  heir, 
Crouch'd  in  the  shade  that  near'd  the  tiger's  lair, 
His  gun  beside,  the  jungle  round  him, — wild. 
Lawless  and  fierce  as  Hagar's  wandering  child : — 
To  this  fresh  nature  the  sleek  life  deceast 
Left  the  bright  plunder  of  the  ravaged  East. 
Much  wealth  brings  want, — that  hunger  of  the  heart 
Which  comes  when  Nature  man  deserts  for  Art : 
His  northern  blood,  his  English  name,  create 
Strife  in  the  soul,  till  then  resigned  to  fate  ; 
The  social  world  with  blander  falsehood  graced, 
Smiles  on  his  hopes,  and  lures  him  from  the  waste. 
Alas !  the  taint  that  sunburnt  brow  bespeaks. 
Divides  the  Half-Caste  from  the  world  he  seeks : 
In  him  proud  Europe  sees  the  Paria's  birth. 
And  haughty  Juno  spurns  his  barren  hearth. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  27 

Half  heathen,  and  half  savage,— all  estranged 
Amidst  his  kind,  the  Ishmael  roved  unchanged — 

Small  need  to  track  his  course  from  year  to  year — 

Till  wearied  passion  paused  in  its  career : 

Travel,  experience,  lore  of  things  and  men, 

Brought  thought — thought  books — books  quiet ;  well,  and 

then? 
Alas  !  we  move  but  in  the  Hebrews'  ring  ;* 
Our  onward  steps  but  back  the  landmarks  bring, 
Until  some  i'ew  at  least  escape  the  thrall, 
And  breathe  the  space  beyond  the  flaming  wall : 
Feel  the  large  freedom  which  in  faith  is  given, 
And  plume  the  wings  that  shall  possess  the  heaven. 

He  search'd  his  mother.     She,  intent  to  shun. 
Closed  that  last  refuge  on  the  homeless  son. 


^  According  to  some  Eastern  commentators  the  march  of 
the  Israelites  in  the  Desert  was  in  a  charmed  circle :  every 
morning  they  set  out  on  their  journey,  and  every  night  found 
themselves  on  the  same  spot  as  that  from  which  the  journey 
had  commenced. 


28  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Till  Death  approach'd,  and  Conscience,  that  sad  star 

Which  heralds  night,  and  plays  but  on  the  bar 

Of:  the  Eternal  Gate, — laid  bare  the  crime, 

And  woke  the  soul  upon  the  brink  of  time. 

Haply  if  close,  too  closely,  we  would  read 

That  sibyl  page,  the  motive  of  the  deed, 

Remorse  for  him  her  life  abandoned,  weaves 

Fear  for  the  dearer  one  her  death  bereaves  ; 

And  penitent  lines  consigned,  with  eager  prayer, 

The  lorn  Calantha  to  a  brother's  care. 

Not  till  long  moons  had  waned  in  distant  skies. 

O'er  the  last  mandate  wept  the  Indian's  eyes ; 

But  the  lost  sister  lived, — the  flower  of  yore 

Bloom'd  from  the  grave, — and  earth  was  sweet  once  more ; 

Fair  Florence  holds  the  heart  he  yearns  to  meet; 

Swift,  when  heart  yearns  to  heart,  how  swift  the  feet ! 

Well,  and  those  arms  have  clasp'd  a  sister  now ! 

Thy  tears  have  fallen  on  a  sister's  brow ! 

Alas  !  thy  doom  a  sister's  heart  forbade ; 

Thy  lot  as  lonely,  and  thy  heart  as  sad. 

Is  that  pale  shade  the  Peri-child  in  truth,     - 

Who  shone,  like  Morning,  on  the  hills  of  Youth  ? 


THE  JVEW  TIMON.  29 

Is  that  cold  voice  the  same  that  rang  through  air, 
Blithe  as  the  bird  sings  in  rebuke  of  care? 

Certes,  to  those  who  might  more  closely  mark, 
That  dove  brought  nought  of  gladness  to  his  ark  ; 
No  loving  step,  to  meet  him  homeward,  flew ; 
Still  at  his  voice  her  pale  cheek  paler  grew. 
The  greeting  kiss,  the  tender  trustful  talk, — 
Arm  linked  in  arm — the  dear  familiar  walk  ; 
The  sweet  domestic  interchange  of  cares. 
Memories  and  hopes — this  union  was  not  theirs. 
Partly  perchance  the  jealous  laws  that  guard 
The  Eastern  maids,  their  equal  commune  barr'd  ; 
For  still,  in  much  the  antique  creed  retain'd 
Its  hold,  and  India  in  the  Alien  reign'd ; 
That  superstitious  love  which  would  secure 
What  the  heart  worships,  for  the  world  too  pure ; 
And  wrap  with  solemn  mystery  and  divine. 
From  the  crowd's  gaze,  the  idol  and  the  shrine, 
In  him  was  instinct, — generous  if  austere ; 
More  priestly  reverence,  than  dishonouring  fear. 
Yet  wherefore  shun  no  less,  if  this  were  all, 
His  lonely  chamber  as  his  crowded  hall  ? 
3* 


yO  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

For  days,  for  weeks,  perchance,  unseen,  aloof 
Far  as  the  poles,  beneath  one  common  roof. 
She  drew  around  her  the  cold  spells,  which  part 
From  forward  sympathies  the  unsocial  heart. 
Yet,  strange  to  say,  each  seemed  to  each  still  dear ; 
And  love  in  her  but  curb'd  by  stronger  fear  ; 
And  love  in  him  by  some  mysterious  pride, 
That  sought  the  natural  tenderness  to  hide : 
Did  she  but  name  him,  you  beheld  her  raise 
Moist  eyes  to  heaven,  as  one  who  inly  prays. 
News  of  her  varying  health  he  daily  sought. 
And  his  mood  altered  with  the  tidings  brought : 
If  worse  than  wonted,  it  was  sad  to  view 
That  stern  man's  trembling  lip  and  waning  hue, — ■ 
Sad,  yet  the  sadness  with  an  awe  was  blent, — 
No  words  e'er  gave  the  struggling  passion  vent ; 
And  still  that  passion  seem'd  not  grief  alone, 
Some  curse  seem'd  labourincp  in  the  stifled  groan  : 
Some  angrier  chord  the  mixed  emotion  wrench'd  ; 
The  brow  was  darken'd,  and  the  hand  was  clench'd. 

There  was  a  mystery  that  defied  the  guess, 
In  so  much  love,  and  so  much  tenderness. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  31 

What  sword,  invisible  to  human  eyes, 
So  sternly  severed  Nature's  closest  ties  ; 
To  leave  each  yearning  unto  each — apart — 
All  ice  the  commune,  and  all  warmth  the  heart? 

III. 

Now,  for  some  weeks  had  she,  the  stranger  guest, 
Found  in  that  cheerless  home  her  grateful  rest : 
Her  task  no  menial's, — privileged  to  share 
Calantha's  hours,  to  soothe  them  was  her  care. 
Scarce  told  her  loss,  than  what  untold  remain'd 
Calantha  hush'd — her  heart  already  gain'd  ; 
And  generous  pity  shunn'd  anew  to  bare 
The  wounds  yet  quivering  to  the  faintest  air ; 
That  chastened  speech,  the  grace  so  simply  worn, 
Bespoke  the  nurture  of  the  gentle-born ; 
And,  as  an  equal  might  an  equal  woo, 
Calantha  sigh'd — "  I  am  an  orphan  too, 
Both  mourners  and  both  lonely — be  to  me, 
Sister,  and  friend — I,  sister,  friend  to  thee." 
And  day  by  day  the  new-born  influence  stole. 
As  steals  the  summer,  o'er  that  frozen  soul  ,* 


32  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Calantha  brightened  in  her  presence — broke 

Into  faint  smiles  when  the  young  Soother  spoke ; 

Wept  tears,  that  seem'd  to  sweet  founts  to  belong, 

At  Lucy's  bird-like  and  untutored  song ; 

And  felt  as  some  poor  captive,  when  from  far 

The  mavis  nestles  on  the  dungeon  bar, 

And  sings  him  back,  forgetful  of  his  chain, 

To  home  and  hope,  and  happy  hours  again. 

The  very  menials  lingered  as  they  went, 

To  spy  the  fairy  to  their  dwelling  sent. 

To  list  her  light  step  on  the  stair,  or  hark 

Her  song ; — yes,  now  the  dove  was  in  the  ark  ! 

Ev'n  the  cold  Morvale,  spell'd  at  last,  was  found 

Within  the  circle  drawn  his  guest  around ; 

Less  rare  his  visits  to  Calantha  grew. 

And  her  eye  shrunk  less  coldly  from  his  view ; 

The  presence  of  this  gentle  third  one,  brought 

Respite  to  memory,  gave  fresh  play  to  thought ; 

And  as  some  child  to  strifeful  parents  sent, 

Laps  the  long  discord  in  its  own  content. 

This  happy  creature  seem'd  to  reach  that  home. 

To  say — "  Love  enters  where  the  guileless  come !" 


THE  NEW  TIMON. 

It  was  not  mirth,  for  mirth  she  was  too  still, 
It  was  not  wit,  wit  leaves  the  heart  more  chill  ; 
But  that  continuous  sweetness,  which  with  ease 
Pleases  all  round  it,  from  the  wish  to  please, — 
This  was  the  charm  that  Lucy's  smile  bestowed ; 
The  waves'  fresh  ripple  from  deep  fountains  flowed  ;— 
Below  exhaustless  gratitude, — above, 
Woman's  meek  temper — childhood's  ready  love. 

Oft,  after  all  the  cheerful  smiles  of  day, 

When  by  her  couch  she  knelt  at  night  to  pray ; 

As  some  fair  lake  reflects,  when  day  is  o'er. 

With  stiller  deeps  and  clearer  tide  the  shore. 

So,  Night  and  calm  the  lengthening  memory  glass'd ; 

And  from  the  silence  rose  distinct  the  past. 

Again  she  sees  her  mother's  gentle  face  ; 

Again  she  feels  the  mother's  soft  embrace ; 

Again  the  mother's  sigh  of  pain  she  hears. 

And  starts — and  lo,  the  spell  dissolves  in  tears  ! 

Tears  that  too  well  that  faithful  grief  reveal. 

Which  smiles,  by  day  made  duties,  would  conceal. 

So  droop  the  flowers,  when  lonely  eve  renews 

Earth's  and  heaven's  union  in  baptizing  dews. 


PA  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

It  was  a  noon  of  summer  in  its  glow, 

And  all  was  life,  but  London's  life,  below ; 

As  by  the  open  casement  half  reclined 

Calantha's  languid  form ; — a  gentle  wind 

Brought  to  her  cheek  a  bloom  unwonted  there, 

And  stirred  the  light  wave  of  the  golden  hair. 

Hers  was  a  beauty  that  made  sad  the  eye, 

Bright,  but  fast  fading,  like  a  twilight  sky  ; 

The  shape  so  finely,  delicately  frail. 

As  formed  for  climes  unruffled  by  a  gale ; 

The  lustrous  eye,  through  which  looks  forth  the  soul, 

Bright  and  more  brightly  as  it  nears  the  goal ; 

The  fatal  clearness  of  the  varying  hue, 

Where  life  the  quick  lamp  shines,  in  flickering,  through  ; 

The  waning  beauty,  the  funereal  charms 

With  which  Death  steals  his  bride  into  his  arms. 

What  made  more  sad  the  outward  form's  decay, 

A  soul  of  genius  glimmer'd  through  the  clay; 

Oft  through  the  languor  of  disease  would  break 

That  life  of  light  Parnassian  dreamers  seek  ; 

And  music  trembled  on  each  aspen  leaf 

Of  the  boughs  drooping  o'er  the  fount  of  grief. 


THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Genius  has  so  much  youth  no  care  can  kill ; 
Death  seems  unnatural  when  it  sighs — "  Be  still.'* 
That  wealth,  which  Nature  prodigally  gave, 
Shall  Life  but  garner  for  its  heir  the  Grave? 
What  noble  hearts  that  treasure  might  have  blest ! 
How  large  the  realm  that  mind  should  have  possest 
Love  in  the  wife,  and  wisdom  in  the  friend, 
And  earnest  purpose  for  a  generous  end, 
And  glowing  sympathy  for  thoughts  of  power, 
And  playful  fancy  for  the  lighter  hour  ; 
All  lost,  all  caverned  in  the  sunless  gloom 
Of  some  dark  memory,  beetling  o'er  the  tomb ; — 
Like  bright-wing'd  fairies,  whom  the  hostile  gnome 
Has  spell'd  and  dungeon'd  in  his  rocky  home, 
The  wanderer  hears  the  solitary  moan, 
Nor  dreams  the  fairy  in  the  sullen  stone. 
Contrasting  this  worn  frame  and  weary  breast, 
Fresh  as  a  morn  of  April  bloom'd  the  guest. 
April  has  tears,  and  mists  the  morn  array ; 
The  mists,  the  sun, — the  tears  foretell  the  May. 
Lo,  as  from  care  to  care  the  soother  glides, 
How  the  home  briajhtens  where  the  heart  presides ! 


35 


36  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Now  hovering,  bird-like,  o'er  the  flowers, — at  times 
Pausing  to  chant  Calantha's  favourite  rhymes. 
Or  smooth  the  uneasy  pillow  with  light  hand; 
Or  watch  the  eye,  forestalling  the  demand, 
Complete  in  every  heavenly  art — above 
All,  save  the  genius  of  inventive  love. 

The  window  opened  on  that  breadth  of  green, 

To  half  the  pomp  of  elder  days  the  scene. 

Gaze  to  thy  left — there  the  Plantagenet 

Look'd  on  the  lists  for  Norman  knighthood  set  ;* 

Bright  issued  forth,  where  yonder  archway  glooms, 

Banner  and  trump  and  steed,  and  waves  of  plumes. 

As  with  light  heart  rides  wanton  Anne  to  brave 

Tudor's  grim  love,  the  purple  and  the  grave. 

Gaze  to  the  right,  where  now— neat,  white,  and  low, 

The  modest  Palace  looks  like  Brunswick  Row; 

There,  echoed  once  the  merriest  orgies  known. 

Since  the  frank  Norman  won  grave  Harold's  throne ; 

There,  bloom'd  the  mulberry  groves,  beneath  whose  shade 

His  easy  loves  the  royal  Rowley  made ; 

*  The  Tilt-yard. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  37 

Where  Villiers  flaunted,  and  where  Sedley  sung, 

And  wit's  loose  diamonds  dropp'd  from  Wilmot's  tongue ! 

All  at  rest  now — all  dust ! — wave  flows  on  wave ; 

But  the  sea  dries  not ! — what  to  us  the  grave  ? 

It  brings  no  real  homily,  we  sigh, 

Pause  for  awhile  and  murmur,  "  all  must  die  1" 

Then  rush  to  pleasure,  action,  sin  once  more, 

Swell  the  loud  tide,  and  fret  unto  the  shore. 

And  o'er  the  altered  scene  Calantha's  eye 
Roves  listless — yet  Time's  Great  the  passers  by  ! 
Along  the  road  still  fleet  the  men,  whose  names 
Live  in  the  talk  the  Moment's  glory  claims. 
There,  for  the  hot  Pancratia  of  Debate 
Pass  the  keen  wrestlers  for  that  palm, — the  State. 
Now,  "  on  his  humble  but  his  faithful  steed," 
Sir  Robert  rides — he  never  rides  at  speed — 
Careful  his  seat,  and  circumspect  his  gaze ; 
And  still  the  cautious  trot  the  cautious  mind  betrays. 
Wise  is  thy  heed  ! — how  stout  soe'er  his  back, 
Thy  weight  has  oft  proved  fatal  to  thy  hack  ! 
4 


38  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Next,  with  loose  rein  and  careless  canter  view 
Our  man  of  men,  the  Prince  of  Waterloo  ; 
O'er  the  firm  brow  the  hat  as  firmly  prest, 
The  firm  shape  rigid  in  the  button'd  vest ; 
Within — the  iron  which  the  fire  has  proved. 
And  the  close  Sparta  of  a  mind  unmoved ! 
Not  his  the  wealth  to  some  large  natures  lent. 
Divinely  lavish,  even  where  misspent. 
That  liberal  sunshine  of  exuberant  soul, 
Thought,  sense,  affection,  warming  up  the  whole ; 
The  heat  and  affluence  of  a  genial  power. 
Rank  in  the  weed  as  vivid  in  the  flower ; 
Hush'd  at  command  his  veriest  passions  halt, 
Drill'd  is  each  virtue,  disciplined  each  fault ; 
Warm  if  his  blood — he  reasons  while  he  glows, 
Admits  the  pleasure — ne'er  the  folly  knows ; 
If  for  our  Mars  his  snare  had  Vulcan  set, 
He  had  won  the.  Venus,  but  escaped  the  net ; 
His  eye  ne'er  wrong,  if  circumscribed  the  sight, 
Widen  the  prospect  and  it  ne'er  is  right. 
Seen  through  the  telescope  of  habit  still, 
States  seem  a  camp,  and  all  the  world — a  drill ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  39 

Yet  oh,  how  few  his  faults,  how  pure  his  mind, 
Beside  his  fellow -conquerors  of  mankind  ; 
How  knightly  seems  the  iron  image,  shown 
By  Marlborough's  tomb,  or  lost  Napoleon's  throne ! 
Cold  if  his  lips,  no  smile  of  fraud  they  wear, 
Stern  if  his  heart,  still  "  Man"  is  graven  there  ; 
No  guile — no  crime  his  step  to  greatness  made, 
No  freedom  trampled,  and  no  trust  betray 'd  : 
The  eternal  "I"  was  not  his  law — he  rose 
Without  one  art  that  honour  might  oppose, 
And  leaves  a  human,  if  a  hero's,  name, 
To  curb  ambition  while  it  lights  to  fame. 

But  who,  scarce  less  by  every  gazer  eyed. 

Walks  yonder,  swinging  with  a  stalwart  stride  ? 

With  that  vast  bulk  of  chest  and  limb  assign'd 

So  oft  to  men  who  subjugate  their  kind  ; 

So  sturdy  Cromwell  push'd  broad  shoulder'd  on  ; 

So  burly  Luther  breasted  Babylon  ; 

So  brawny  Cleon  bawl'd  his  Agora  down  ; 

And  large-limb'd  Mahmoud  clutch'd  a  Prophet's  crown  ! 


40  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Ay,  mark  him  well !  the  schemer's  subtle  eye, 

The  stage- mime's  plastic  lip  your  search  defy — 

He,  like  Lysander,  never  deems  it  sin 

To  eke  the  lion's  with  the  fox's  skin  ; 

Vain  every  mesh  this  Proteus  to  enthrall, 

He  breaks  no  statute,  and  he  creeps  through  all ; — 

First  to  the  mass  that  valiant  truth  to  tell, 

"  Rebellion's  art  is  never  to  rebel, — 

Elude  all  danger,  but  defy  all  laws,"— 

He  stands  himself  the  Safe  Sublime  he  draws ! 

In  him  behold  all  contrasts  which  belong 

To  minds  abased,  but  passions  rous'd,  by  wrong ; 

The  blood  all  fervour,  and  the  brain  all  guile, — 

The  patriot's  bluntness,  and  the  bondsman's  wile. 

One  after  one  the  lords  of  time  advance, — 

Here  Stanley  meets, — how  Stanley  scorns,  the  glance ! 

The  brilliant  chief,  irregularly  great,  . 

Frank,  haughty,  rash, — the  Rupert  of  Debate! 

Nor  gout,  nor  toil,  his  freshness  can  destroy. 

And  Time  still  leaves  all  Eton  in  the  boy  ; — 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  41 

First  in  the  class,  and  keenest  in  the  ring, 
He  saps  like  Gladstone,  and  he  fights  like  Spring ! 
Ev'n  at  the  feast,  his  pluck  pervades  the  board. 
And  dauntless  game-cocks  symbolize  their  lord. 
Lo  where  atilt  at  friend — if  barr'd  from  foe — 
He  scours  the  ground,  and  volunteers  the  blow, 
And,  tired  with  conquest  over  Dan  and  Snob, 
Plants  a  sly  bruiser  on  the  nose  of  Bob  ; 
Decorous  Bob,  too  friendly  to  reprove. 
Suggests  fresh  fighting  in  the  next  remove, 
And  prompts  his  chum,  in  hopes  the  vein  to  cool, 
To  the  prim  benches  of  the  Upper  School  : 

Yet  who  not  listens,  with  delighted  smile, 
To  the  pure  Saxon  of  that  silver  style  ; 
In  the  clear  style  a  heart  as  clear  is  seen, 
Prompt  to  the  rash — revolting  from  the  mean. 

Next  cool,  and  all  unconscious  of  reproach. 
Comes  the  calm  "  Johnny  who  upset  the  coach."* 

*  Lord  Stanley's  memorable  exclamation  on  a  certain  oc- 
casion which  now  belongs  to  history, — "  Johnny's  upset  the 
4# 


42  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

How  formed  to  lead,  if  not  too  proud  to  please, — 

His  fame  would  fire  you,  but  his  manners  freeze. 

Like  or  dislike,  he  does  not  care  a  jot ; 

He  wants  your  vote,  but  your  affection  not ; 

Yet  human  hearts  need  sun,  as  well  as  oats, — 

So  cold  a  climate  plays  the  deuce  with  votes. — 

And  while  his  doctrines  ripen  day  by  day. 

His  frost-nipp'd  party  pines  itself  away  ; — 

From  the  starved  wretch  its  own  loved  child  we  steal — 

And  "  Free  Trade"  chirrups  on  the  lap  of  Peel ! — 

But  see  our  statesman  when  the  steam  is  on, 

And  languid  Johnny  glows  to  glorious  John ! 

When  Hampden's  thought,  by  Falkland's  muses  drest, 

Lights  the  pale  cheek,  and  swells  the  generous  breast ; 

When  the  pent  heat  expands  the  quickening  soul, — 

And  foremost  in  the  race  the  wheels  of  genius  roll ! 

What  gives  the  Past  the  haunting  charms  that  please 
Sage,  scholar,  bard  ? — The  shades  of  men  like  these ! 
Seen  in  our  walks  ; — with  vulgar  blame  or  praise. 
Reviled  or  worshipp'd  as  our  faction  sways ; 

coach !"  Never  was  coach  upset  with  such  perfect  sang-froid 
on  the  part  of  the  driver. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  43 

Some  centuries  hence,  and  from  that  praise  or  blame, — 
As  light  from  vapour  breaks  the  steady  flame, 
And  the  trite  Present  which,  while  acted,  seems 
Time's  dullest  prose, — fades  in  the  land  of  dreams, 
Gods  spring  from  dust,  and  Hero- Worship  wakes 
Out  of  that  Past  the  humble  Present  makes. 
And  yet,  what  matter  to  ourselves  the  Great? 
What  the  heart  touches — that  controls  our  fate  ! 
From  the  full  galaxy  we  turn  to  one, 
Dim  to  all  else,  but  to  ourselves  the  sun  ; 
And  still,  to  each,  some  poor,  obscurest  life. 
Breathes  all  the  bliss,  or  kindles  all  the  strife. 
Wake  up  the  countless  dead ! — ask  every  ghost 
Whose  influence  tortured  or  consoled  the  most : 
How  each  pale  spectre  of  the  host  would  turn 
From  the  fresh  laurel  and  the  glorious  urn, 
To  point,  where  rots  beneath  a  nameless  stone, 
Some  heart  in  which  had  ebb'd  and  flow'd  its  own ! 

What  marvel  then  that  sad  Calantha's  eye 
Roved  listless  o'er  the  nobler  passers-by  ? 
History  in  vain  records  them  in  her  line  : 
O,  heart !  a  nation's  history  is  not  thine ! 


44  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

But  now,  why  sudden  that  electric  start  ? 

She  stands — the  pale  lips  soundless,  yet  apart ! 

She  stands,  with  clasped  hands  and  strained  eye — 

A  moment's  silence — one  convulsive  cry, 

And  sinking  to  the  earth,  a  seeming  death 

Smites  into  chill  suspense  the  senses  and  the  breath 

Quick  by  the  unconscious  hostess  knelt  the  guest, — 

Bathed  the  wan  brows,  and  loosed  the  stifling  vest  ; 

As  loosed  the  vest, — like  one  whose  sleep  of  fear 

Is  keen  with  dreams  that  warn  of  danger  near, — 

Calantha's  hand  repel  I'd  the  friendly  care, 

And  faintly  clasp'd  some  token  hoarded  there, — 

Perchance  some  witness  of  the  untold  grief, — 

Some  sainted  relic  of  a  lost  belief. 

Some  mournful  talisman,  whose  touch  recalls 

The  ghost  of  time,  in  Memory's  desolate  halls. 

And  like  the  vessels  that,  of  old,  enshrined 

The  soil  of  lands  the  exile  left  behind, — 

Holds  all  youth  rescues  from  that  native  shore 

Of  hope  and  passion,  life  shall  tread  no  more. 

Calantha  wakes,  but  not  to  sense  restor'd. 
The  mind  still  trembled  on  the  jarred  chord, 


THE  NEW  TI3I0N.  45 

And  troubled  reason  flickered  in  the  eye, 
As  gleams  and  wanes  a  star  in  some  perturbed  sky  ; 
Yet  still,  through  all  the  fever  of  the  brain. 
Terror,  more  strong,  can  Frenzy's  self  restrain. 
Few  are  her  words,  and  if  at  times  they  seem 
To  touch  the  dark  truths  shadowed  on  her  dream. 
She  starts,  with  whitening  lip — looks  round  in  fear, 
And  murmurs  "  Nay  !  my  brother  did  not  hear !" 
Then  smiles,  as  if  the  fear  were  laid  at  rest. 
And  clasps  the  token  treasured  at  her  breast, 
And  whispers,  "  Lucy,  guard  my  sleep ; — they  say 
That  sleep  is  faithless,  and  that  dreams  betray !" 

Yet  oft  the  while — to  watch  without  the  door. 
The  brother's  step  glides  noiseless  o'er  the  floor, — 
There  meekly  waits,  until  the  welcome  ray 
Of  Lucy's  smile  gives  comfort  to  the  day, — 
Till  Lucy's  whisper  murmurs,  "  Be  of  cheer," 
And  Pity  dupes  Affection's  willing  ear. 
Once,  and  but  once,  within  the  room  he  crept. 
When  all  was  silent,  and  they  deemed  she  slept, 
Not  softer  to  the  infant's  cradle  steals 
The  mother's  step ; — she  hears  not,  yet  she  feels, 


46  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

As  by  strange  instinct,  the  approach  ; — her  frame 
Convulsed  and  shuddering  as  he  nearer  came ; 
Till  the  wild  cry, — the  waving  hand  convey 
The  frantic  prayer,  so  bitter  to  obey. 
And  with  stern  brow,  belying  the  wrung  heart, 
And  voiceless  lips  comprest,  he  turns  him  to  depart. 

Wondering,  mused  Lucy,  the  dark  cause  to  find. 
Which  made  Calantha  sling  a  soul  so  kind  ; 
Awe  that  had  chill'd  the  gratitude  she  felt 
For  Morvale,  now  in  pity  seem'd  to  melt : 
This  patient  tenderness  in  one  so  stern. 
Perchance  so  wrong'd — this  love  without  return, 
This  rough  exterior,  with  this  gentle  breast, 
Awoke  a  sympathy  that  would  not  rest ; 
That  v/istful  eye,  that  changing  lip,  that  tone. 
Whose  accents  droop'd,  or  gladden'd,  from  her  own, 
Haunted  the  woman's  heart,  which  ever  heaves 
Its  echo  back  to  every  sound  that  grieves. 
Light  as  the  gossamer  its  tissue  spins 
O'er  freshest  dews  when  summer  morn  begins, 
Will  Fancy  weave  its  airy  web  above 
The  dews  of  Pity,  in  the  dawn  of  Love! — 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  47 

At  length,  Calantha's  reason  wakes ; — the  strife 
Calms  back, — the  soul  re-settles  to  the  life. 
Freed  from  her  post,  flies  Lucy  to  rejoice 
The  anxious  heart,  so  wistful  for  her  voice ; 
Not  at  his  wonted  watch  the  brother  found. 
She  seeks  his  door — no  answer  to  her  sound, 
She  halts  in  vain,  till,  eager  to  begin 
The  joyous  tale,  the  bright  shape  glides  within  ; 
For  the  first  time  beheld,  she  views  the  lone 
And  gloomy  rooms  the  master  calls  his  own  ; 
Not  there  the  luxury  elsewhere,  which  enthralls 
With  pomp  the  gazer  in  the  rich  man's  halls  ; 
Strange  arms  of  Eastern  warfare,  grimly  piled, 
Betray'd  the  man's  fierce  memory  of  the  child, — 
And  littered  books,  in  mystic  scrolls  enshrined 
The  solemn  Sibyl  of  the  elder  Ind. 
The  girl  treads  fearful  on  the  dismal  floors, 
And  with  amazed  eye  the  gloomy  lair  explores  ; 
Thus,  as  some  Peri  strays  where,  couch'd  in  cells, 
With  gods  dethroned,  the  brooding  Afrite  dwells, 
From  room  to  room  her  fairy  footsteps  glide, 
Till,  lo !  she  starts  to  see  him  by  her  side. — 


48  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

With  crimson  cheek,  and  downcast  eyes,  that  quail 

Beneath  his  own,  she  hurries  the  glad  tale, 

Then  turns  to  part — but  as  she  turns,  still  round 

She  looks, — and  lingers  on  the  magic  ground. 

And  eyes  each  antique  relic  with  the  wild 

Half  pleased,  half  timorous,  wonder  of  a  child ; 

And  as  a  child  the  lonely  inmate  saw, 

And  smiled  to  see,  the  pleasure  and  the  awe  ; 

And  softened  into  kindness  his  deep  tone. 

And  drew  her  hand,  half  shrinking,  in  his  own, 

And  said,  "  Nay,  pause  and  task  the  showman's  skill, 

What  moves  thee  most?— come,  question  me  at  will." 

Listening  she  lingered,  and,  she  knew  not  why, 

Time's  wing  so  swiftly  never  seemed  to  fly  ; 

Never  before  unto  her  gaze  reveal'd 

The  Eastern  fire,  the  Eastern  calm  conceal'd  : 

Child  of  the  sun,  and  native  of  the  waste, 

Cramp'd  in  the  formal  chains  it  had  embraced. 

His  heart  leapt  back  to  its  old  haunts  afar, 

As  leaps  the  lion  from  the  captive  bar  ; 

And,  as  each  token  llash'd  upon  the  mind 

Young  dreams,  bold  deeds,  with  memory  intertwined, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  49 

The  dark  eye  blazed,  the  rich  words  roll'd  along, 
Vivid  as  light,  and  eloquent  as  song ; 
At  length,  with  sudden  pause,  he  check'd  the  stream, 
And  his  soul  darkened  from  the  gorgeous  dream. 
"  So,"  with  sad  voice  he  said,  "  my  youth  went  by, 
Fresh  was  the  wave,  if  fitful  was  the  sky  ; 
What  is  my  manhood? — curdled  and  congeal'd, 
A  stagnant  water,  in  a  barren  field : — 
Gall'd  with  strange  customs, — in  the  crowd,  alone  ? 
And  courting  bloodless  hearts  that  freeze  my  own  ! 
In  the  far  lands,  where  first  I  breathed  the  air, — 
Smile  if  thou  wilt, — this  rugged  form  was  fair, 
For  the  swift  foot,  strong  arm,  bold  heart  give  grace 
To  man,  when  danger  girds  man's  dwelling  place, — 
Thou  seest  the  daughter  of  my  mother,  now. 
Shrinks  from  the  outcast  branded  on  my  brow ; 
My  boyhood  tamed  the  lion  in  his  den, 
The  wild  beast  feels  men's  kindness  more  than  men. 
Like  with  its  like,  they  say,  will  intertwine, — 
I  have  not  tamed  one  human  heart  to  mine !" 
He  paused  abruptly.     Thrice  his  listener  sought 
To  shape  consoling  speech  from  soothing  thought, 
5 


50  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

But  thrice  she  failed,  and  thrice  the  colour  came 
And  went,  as  tenderness  was  check'd  by  shame ; 
At  length  her  dove-like  eyes  to  his  she  raised, 
And  all  the  comfort  words  forbade,  she  gazed  ; 
Mov'd  by  her  childlike  pity,  but  too  dark 
In  hopeless  thought  than  pity  more  to  mark ; 
"  Infant,"  he  murmured,  "  not  for  others  flow 
The  tears  the  wise,  how  hard  soe'er,  must  know ; 
As  yet,  the  Eden  of  a  guileless  breast, 
Opes  a  frank  home  to  every  angel  guest ; 
Soft  Eve,  look  round  !— The  world  in  which  thou  art 
Distrusts  the  angel,  nor  unlocks  the  heart — 
Thy  time  will  come  !" — 

He  spoke,  and  from  her  side 
Was  gone, — the  heart  his  wisdom  wronged  replied ! 


END    OF    PART    THE    FIRST. 


THE  NEW  TIMON. 


PART  THE  SECOND. 


I. 


London,  I  take  thee  to  a  poet's  heart ! 

For  those  that  seek  a  Helicon  thou  art ! 

Let  schoolboy  Strephons  bleat  of  flocks  and  fields, 

Each  street  of  thine  a  loftier  Idyl  yields ; 

Fed  by  all  life,  and  fann'd  by  every  wind, 

There,  burns  the  quenchless  Poetry — Mankind  ! 

Yet  not  for  me  the  Olympiad  of  the  gay, 

The  reeking  Season's  dusty  holiday  : — 

Soon  as  its  odour-pomp  the  mead  assumes. 

And  Flora  wanders  through  her  world  of  blooms, 

Vain  the  hot  field-days  of  the  vex'd  debate. 

When  Sirius  reigns, — let  Borthwick  rule  the  state  f 


52  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Vain  Jersey's  cards,  and  Lansdowne's  social  feast, 
Wit  but  fatigues,  and  Beauty's  reign  hath  ceased  ! 
His  mission  done,  the  monk  regains  his  cell ; 
Nor  even  Douro's  matchless  face  can  spell ! 
Far  from  Man's  works,  escaped  to  God's,  I  fly, 
And  breathe  the  luxury  of  a  smokeless  sky  ! 
Me,  the  still  "  London,"  not  the  restless  "  Town," 
(The  light  plume  fluttering  o'er  the  helmed  crown,) 
Delights ; — for  there,  the  grave  Romance  hath  shed 
Its  hues ;  and  air  grows  solemn  with  the  Dead. 
If,  where  the  Lord  of  Rivers  parts  the  throng, 
And  eastward  glides  by  buried  halls  along. 
My  steps  are  led,  I  linger,  and  restore 
To  the  changed  wave  the  poet-shapes  of  yore  ; 
See  the  gilt  barge,  and  hear  the  fated  king 
Prompt  the  first  mavis  of  our  Minstrel  spring;* 

*  "  One  of  the  most  remarkable  pictures  of  ancient  man- 
ners which  has  been  transmitted  to  us,  is  that  in  which  the 
poet  Gower  describes  the  circumstances  under  which  he  was 
commanded  by  King  Richard  II. — 

^  To  make  a  book  after  his  liest.' 


THE   NEW  TIMON.  53 

Or  mark,  with  mitred  Nevile,*  the  array 
Of  arms  and  craft  alarm  "  the  Silent  Way," 
The  Boar  of  Gloucester,  hungering,  scents  his  prey ! 
Or,  landward,  trace  where  thieves  their  festive  hall 
Hold  by  the  dens  of  Law,|  (worst  thief  of  all !) 

The  good  old  rhymer ■ ....  had  taken  boat,  and  upon 

the  broad  river  he  met  the  king  in  his  stately  barge 
The  monarch  called  him  on  board  his  own  ves- 
sel, and  desired  him  to  book  '  some  new  thing.' — This  was 
the  origin  of  the  Confessio  Amantis." — Knight's  London, 
vol.  i.  art.   The  Silent  Higkway. 

*  "  What  a  picture  Hall  gives  of  the  populousness  of  the 
Thames,  in  the  story  which  he  tells  us  of  the  Archbishop  of 
York  (Brother  to  the  King-maker),  after  leaving  the  widow 
of  Edward  IV.  in  the  sanctuary  of  Westminster,  '  sitting  be- 
low on  the  rushes  all  desolate  and  dismayed,'  and  when  he 
opened  his  windows  and  looked  on  the  Thames,  he  might 
see  the  river  full  of  boats  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  his  ser- 
vants, watching  that  no  person  should  go  to  sanctuary,  nor 
none  should  pass  unsearched." — Ibid.  Ibid. 

t  A  favourite  rendezvous  a  few  years  since  (and  probably 
even  still)  for  the  Heroes  of  that  Fraternity,  more  dear  to 
Mercury  than  to  Themis,  was  held  at  Devereux  Court,  oc- 
cupying a  part  of  the  site  on  which  stood  the  residence  of 
the  Knights  Templars. 

5* 


54  THE  NEW  TIM  ON. 

The  antique  Temple  of  the  armed  Zeal 
That  wore  the  cross  a  mantle  to  the  steel ; 
Time's  dreary  void  the  kindling  dream  supplies ; 
The  walls  expand,  the  shadowy  towers  arise, 
And  forth,  as  when  by  Richard's  lion  side, 
For  Christ  and  Fame,  the  Warrior-Phantoms  ride  ! 
Or  if,  less  grave  with  thought,  less  rich  with  lore, 
The  later  scenes,  the  lighter  steps  explore, 
If  through  the  haunts  of  living  splendour  led — 
Has  the  quick  Muse  no  empire  but  the  Dead  ] 
In  each  keen  face,  by  Care  or  Pleasure  worn. 
Grief  claims  her  sigh,  or  Vice  invites  her  scorn  ; 
And  every  human  brow  that  veils  a  thought 
Conceals  the  Castaly  which  Shakspeare  sought ! 

Amidst  the  crowd,  (what  time  the  glowing  Hours 
Strew,  as  they  glide,  the  summer  fields  with  flowers,) 
Who  fly  the  solitude  of  sweets  to  drown 
Nature's  still  whisper  in  the  roar  of  Town  ; 
W^ho  tread  with  jaded  step  the  weary  mill — 
Grind  at  the  wheel,  and  call  it  "  Pleasure"  still ; — 
Gay  without  mirth,  fluigued  without  employ. 
Slaves  to  tlie  joyless  phantom  of  a  Joy  ; — 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  55 


I" 


Amidst  this  crowd,  was  one  who,  absent  long, 
And  late  returned,  outshone  the  meaner  throng ; 
And,  truth  to  speak,  in  him  were  blent  the  rays 
Which  form  a  halo  in  the  vulgar  gaze  ; 
Howden's  fair  beauty,  Beaufort's  princely  grace- 
Hertford's  broad  lands,  and  Courtney's  vaunted  race ; 
And  Pembroke's  learning  in  that  polished  page, 
Writ  by  the  Grace,  "  the  Manners  and  the  Age 
Still  with  sufficient  youth  to  please  the  heart, 
But  old  enough  for  mastery  in  the  art  ;— 
Renown'd  for  conquests  in  those  isles  which  lie 
In  rosy  seas  beneath  a  Cnidian  sky, 
Where  the  soft  Goddess  yokes  her  willing  doves, 
And  meets  invasion  with  a  host  of  loves  ; 
Yet  not  unlaurell'd  in  the  war  of  wile 
Which  won  Ulysses  grave  Minerva's  smile. 
For  those  deep  arts  the  diplomat  was  known 
Which  mould  the  lips  that  whisper  round  a  throne. 

Long  in  the  numbing  hands  of  Law  had  lain 
Arden's  proud  earldom — Arden's  wide  domain. 
Kinsman  with  kinsman,  race  with  race  had  vied 
To  snatch  the  prize,  and  in  the  struggle  died ; 


56  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Till  all  the  rights  the  crowd  of  heirs  made  dim, 

Death  cleared — and  solved  the  tangled  skein  in  him. 

There  was  but  one  who  in  the  bastard  fame 

Wealth  gives  its  darlings,  rivall'd  Arden's  name  : 

A  rival  rarely  seen — felt  everywhere. 

With  soul  that  circled  bounty  hke  the  air, 

Simple  himself,  but  regal  in  his  train — 

Lavish  of  stores  he  secm'd  but  to  disdain  ; 

To  art  a  Medici — to  want  a  God, 

Life's  rougher  paths  grew  level  where  he  trod. 

Much  Arden,  (Arden  had  a  subtle  mind, 

Which  sought  in  all  philosophy  to  find,) 

Loved  to  compare  the  different  means  by  which 

Enjoyment  yields  a  harvest  to  the  rich. — 

Himself  already  marvelled  to  behold 

How  soon  trite  custom  wears  the  gleam  from  gold  ; 

Well,  was  his  rival  happier  from  its  use 

Than  he  (his  candour  whispered)  from  abuse? 

He  longed  to  know  this  Morvale,  and  to  learn  : 

They  met— grew  friends — the  Sybarite  and  the  stern. 

Each  had  some  points  in  common:  mostly  those 

From  which  the  plont  of  human  friendship  grows. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  57 

Each  had  known  strong  vicissitudes  in  life  ; 

The  present  ease,  and  the  remembered  strife. 

Each,  though  from  differing  causes,  nursed  a  mind 

At  war  with  Fate,  and  chafed  against  his  kind. 

Each  with  a  searching  eye  had  sought  to  scan 

The  solemn  Future,  soul  predicts  to  man  ; 

And  each  forgot  how,  cloudlike,  passions  mar, 

In  the  vex'd  wave,  the  mirror  of  the  star  ; 

How  all  the  unquiet  thoughts  which  life  supplies 

May  swell  the  ocean  but  to  veil  the  skies  ; 

And  dark  to  Man  may  grow  the  heaven  that  smiled 

On  the  clear  vision  Nature  gave  the  Child. 

Each,  too,  in  each,  where  varying  most  they  seem, 

Found  that  which  fed  half  envy,  half  esteem. 

As  stood  the  Pilgrim  of  the  waste  before 

The  stream  that  parted  from  the'  enchanted  shore, 

Though  on  the  opposing  margent  of  the  wave 

Those  fairy  boughs  but  seeming  fruitage  gave  ; 

Tho'  his  stern  manhood  in  its  simple  power, 

If  cross'd  the  barrier,  soon  had  scorned  the  bower  ; 

Yet,  as  some  monk,  whom  holier  cloisters  shade, 

Views  from  afar  the  glittering  cavalcade, 


58  THE   NEW  TIMON. 

And  sighs  as  sense  against  his  will  recalls 
Fame's  knightly  lists  and  Pleasure's  festive  halls, 
So,  while  the  conscience  chid,  the  charm  enchain'd, 
And  the  heart  envied  what  the  soul  disdained. 

While  Arden's  nature  in  his  friend's  could  find 
An  untaught  force  that  awed  his  subtler  mind — 
Awed,  yet  allured; — that  Eastern  calm  of  eye   ' 
And  mien — a  mantle  and  a  majesty, 
At  once  concealing  all  the  strife  below. 
It  shames  the  pride  of  lofty  hearts  to  show  ; 
And  robing  Art's  lone  outlaw  with  the  air 
Of  nameless  state  the  lords  of  Nature  wear  ; — 
This  kingly  mien  contrasting  this  mean  form — 
This  calm  exterior  with  this  heart  of  storm 
Touch'd  with  vague  interest,  undefined  and  strange, 
The  world's  quick  pupil  whose  career  was  change. 

Forth  from  the  crowded  streets  one  summer  day, 
Rode  the  new  friends  ;  and  cool  and  silent  lay 
Through  shadowy  lanes  the  chance-directed  way. 
As  with  slow  pace  and  slackened  rein  they  rode. 
Men's  wonted  talk  to  deeper  converse  flowed. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  59 

*'  Think'st  thou,"  said  Arden,  "  that  the  Care,  whose 

speed 
Climbs  the  tall  bark  and  mounts  the  rider's  steed. 
And  (still  to  quote  old  Horace)  hovers  round 
Our  fretted  roofs,  forbears  yon  village  ground  ? — 
Think'st  thou  that  Toil  drives  trouble  from  the  door ; 
And  does  God's  sun  shine  brightest  on  the  Poor1" 

"  I  know  not,"  answered  Morvale,  "  but  I  know 
Each  state  feels  envy  for  the  state  below  ,* 
Kings  for  their  subjects — for  the  obscure  the  great : 
The  smallest  circle  guards  the  happiest  state. 
Earth's  real  wealth  is  in  the  heart ; — in  truth 
As  life  looks  brightest  in  the  eyes  of  youth, 
So  simple  wants — the  simple  state  most  far 
From  that  entangled  maze  in  which  we  are, 
Seem  unto  nations  what  youth  is  to  man, — " 

"  '  When  wild  in  woods  the  noble  savage  ran,' " 
Said  Arden,  smiling.     "  Well  we  disagree ; 
Even  youth  itself  reflects  no  charms  for  me ; 
And  all  the  shade  upon  my  life  bestowed 
Spreads  from  the  myrtle  v/hich  my  boyhood  sowed." 


60  THE  NEW  TTMON. 

His  bright  face  fell, — he  sighed.    "  And  canst  thou  guess 

Why  all  once  coveted  now  fails  to  bless  ? — 

Why  all  around  me  palls  upon  the  eye, 

And  the  heart  saddens  in  the  summer  sky? 

It  is  that  youth  expended  life  too  soon : 

A  morn  too  glowing  sets  in  storm  at  noon." 

"  Nay,"  answered  Morvale,  gently,  "  hast  thou  tried 
That  second  youth,  to  which  ev'n  follies  guide  ; 
Which  to  the  wanderer  Sense,  when  tired  and  spent, 
Proclaims  the  fount  by  which  to  fix  the  tent  ? 
The  heart  but  rests  when  sense  forbears  to  roam ; 
We  win  back  freshness  when  Love  smiles  on  Home ; — 
Home  not  to  tliee^  O  happy  one !  denied." 

"  To  me  of  all,"  the  impatient  listener  cried, 
"  Thy  words  but  probe  the  wounds  I  vainly  hide; 
That  which  I  pine  for  thou  hast  pictured  now ; — 
The  hearth,  the  home,  the  altar,  and  the  vow  ; 
The  tranquil  love,  unintertwined  with  shame ! 
The  child's  sweet  kiss  ; — the  Father's  holy  name  ; 
The  link  to  lengthen  a  time-honoured  line ; — 
These  not  for  me,  and  yet  these  should  be  mine." 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  61 

"  If,"  said  the  Indian,  "  counsel  could  avail, 
Or  pity  soothe,  a  friend  invites  thy  tale." 

"Alas!"  sighed  Arden,  "nor  confession's  balm 
Can  heal,  nor  wisdom  whisper  back  to  calm. 
Yet  hear  the  tale — thou  wilt  esteem  me  less — 
But  Grief,  the  Egoist,  yearneth  to  confess. 
I  tell  of  guilt, — and  guilt  all  men  must  own, 
Who  but  avow  the  loves  their  youth  has  known. 
Preach  as  we  will,  in  this  wrong  world  of  ours, 
Man's  fate  and  woman's  are  contending  powers ; 
Each  strives  to  dupe  the  other  in  the  game, — 
Guilt  to  the  victor — to  the  vanquished  shame !" 
He  paused,  and  noting  how  austerely  gloom'd 
His  friend's  dark  visage,  blush'd,  and  thus  resumed. 
"  Nay,  I  approve  not  of  the  code  I  find. 
Not  less  the  wrong  to  which  the  world  is  kind. 
But,  to  be  frank,  how  oft  with  praise  we  scan 
Men's  actions  only  when  they  deal  with  man  ; 
Lo,  gallant  Lovelace,  free  from  every  art 
That  stains  the  honour  or  defiles  the  heart, — 
6 


62  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

With  7nen ; — but  how,  if  woman  the  pursuit? 
What  Hes  degrade  him,  and  what  frauds  pollute; 
Yet  still  to  Lovelace  either  sex  is  mild  ; 
And  new  Clarissas  only  sigh — '  How  wild  !' " 

"  Enough,"  said  Morvale  ;  "  1  perforce  believe  ! 

Strong  Adam  owns  no  equal  in  his  Eve  ; 

But  worse  the  bondage  in  your  bland  disguise  ; 

Europe  destroys, — kind  Asia  only  buys ! 

If  dull  the  Harem,  yet  its  roof  protects, 

And  Power,  when  sated,  still  its  slave  respects. 

With  you,  ev'n  pity  fades  away  with  love, — 

No  gilded  cage  gives  refuge  to  the  dove ; 

Worse  than  the  sin  the  curse  it  leaves  behind  : 

Here  the  crush'd  heart,  or  there  the  poison'd  mind,- 

Your  streets  a  charnel  or  a  market  made. 

For  the  lorn  hunger,  or  the  loathsome  trade. 

Pardon, — Pass  on  !" 

"  Behold,  the  Preface  done," 
Arden  resumed,  "now  opens  Chapter  One!" 


THE  NEW  TIMON. 


63 


LOED  ARDEN'S  TALE. 

"  Reared  in  a  court,  a  man  while  yet  a  boy, 
Hermes  said  '  Rise,'  and  Venus  sigh'd  '  Enjoy;' 
My  earlier  dreams,  like  tints  in  rainbows  given. 
Caught  from  the  Muse,  glowed  but  in  clasping  heaven  ; 
The  bird-like  instinct  of  a  sphere  afar 
Pined  for  the  air,  and  chafed  against  the  bar. 
But  can  to  Guelphs  Augustan  tastes  belong  ? 
Or  Georgium  Sidus  look  benign  on  song  ? 
My  short-lived  Muse  the  ungenial  climate  tried. 
Breathed  some  faint  warbles,  caught  a  cold,  and  died  ! 
Wise  kinsmen  whispered  '  Hush  !  forewarned  in  time  ; 
The  feet  that  rise  are  not  the  feet  of  Rhyme  ; 
Your  cards  are  good,  but  all  is  in  the  lead, — 
Play  out  the  heart,  and  you  are  lost  indeed : 
Leave  verse,  my  boy,  to  unaspiring  men — 
The  eagle's  pinion  never  sheds  a  pen !' 


64  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

"  So  fled  the  Muse  !     What  left  the  Muse  behind  ? 

The  aimless  fancy  and  the  restless  mind  ; 

The  eyes,  still  won  by  whatsoe'r  was  bright, 

But  lost  the  star's  to  prize  the  diamond's  light. 

Man,  like  the  child,  accepts  the  bauble-boon, 

And  clasps  the  coral  where  he  ask'd  the  moon. 

Forbid  the  pomp  and  royalty  of  heaven, — 

To  the  born  Poet  still  the  earth  is  given; 

Duped  by  each  glare  in  which  Corruption  seems 

To  give  the  glory  imaged  on  his  dreams : 

Thus,  what  had  been  the  thirst  for  deathless  fame. 

Grew  the  fierce  hunger  for  the  Moment's  name  ; 

Ambition  placed  its  hard  desires  in  Power, 

And  saw  no  Jove  but  in  the  Golden  Shower. 

No  miser  I — no  niggard  of  the  store — 

The  end  Olympus,  but  the  means  the  ore : 

I  looked  below — there,  Lazarus  crawl'd  disdained  ; 

I  looked  aloft — there,  who  but  Dives  reigned  7 

He  who  would  make  the  steeps  of  power  his  home, 

Must  mask  the  Titan  till  he  rules  the  Gnome. 

"  If  I  insist  on  this,  my  soul's  disease. 
Excuse  for  fault  thy  practised  sight  foresees : 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  65 

It  makes  the  moral  of  my  tale,  in  truth, 
And  boyhood  sowed  the  poison  of  my  youth ! 

*'  Meanwhile  men  praised,  and  women  smiled  ; — the  wing, 

Bowed  from  the  height,  still  bask'd  beneath  the  spring ! 

Pass  by  the  Paphian  follies  of  that  day, — 

When  true  love  comes,  it  is  to  close  our  May. 

Well,  ere  my  boyish  holiday  was  o'er, 

The  grim  god  came,  and  mirth  was  mine  no  more : 

A  well-born  pauper,  I  seemed  doom'd  to  live 

By  what  great  men  to  well-born  paupers  give : 

I  had  an  uncle  high  in  power  and  state. 

Who  ruled  three  kingdoms'  and  one  nephew's  fate. 

This  uncle  loved,  as  English  thanes  will  all. 

An  autumn's  respite  in  his  rural  hall  ; 

In  slaughtering  game,  relax'd  his  rigid  breast ; 

And  so, — behold  me  martyred  to  his  guest ! 

"  One  day,  beside  a  brooklet,  as  my  own 
Free  steps  as  devious,  wandering  and  alone, 
Chance  or  fate  led  me  to  a  scene  which  spell'd 
The  foot  that  paused,  the  charm'd  eye  that  beheld, — 
6* 


66  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Bright  from  the  woodland,  to  the  western  beam 
Glass'd  on  its  bosom,  shot  the  sparkling  stream,    . 
LuU'd  where  a  pastoral  home  its  shadow  gave 
To  the  clear  quiet  of  the  halting  wave  : 
With  many  a  flower  (the  year's  last  infants)  gay. 
Sloped  to  the  marge,  a  modest  garden  lay. 

"  Along  the  banks,  beneath  the  bowering  tree. 
Young  fairies  playM — young  voices  laugh'd  in  glee ; 
One  voice  more  mellowed  in  its  silver  sound, 
Yet  blithe  as  rang  the  gladdest  on  the  ground ; 
One  shape  more  ripened,  one  sweet  face  more  fair. 
Yet  not  less  happy,  the  Titania  there ! 
Soft  voice,  fair  face,  I  hear,  I  see  ye  still ! 
Shades  and  dim  echoes  from  the  blissful  hill 
Behind  me  left,  to  cast  but  darkness  o'er 
The  waste  slow-lengthening  to  the  grave  before ! 

"  So  Love  was  born !  with  love  invention  came ; 
I  won  my  entrance,  but  concealed  my  name. 
As  the  poor  herb,  when  all  that  pomp  could  bring 
Were  vain  to  charm,  admits  to  Oberon's  ring. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  C7 

So  in  the  guise  earth  least  esteems,  I  found 
A  fearless  welcome  on  that  fairy  ground. 
The  sire,  a  village  pastor,  poor  and  wise, 
In  aught  that  clears  to  mortal  sight  the  skies, 
But  blind  and  simple  as  a  child  to  all 
The  things  that  pass  upon  the  earth  we  crawl  ; 
The  mask'd  Lothario  to  his  eyes  appeared 
A  student  youth,  by  Alma  Mater  reared 
The  word  to  preach — the  hunger  to  endure, 
And  see  Ambition  close  upon  a  Cure ; — 
A  modest  youth,  who  owned  his  learning  slight. 
And  brought  his  taper  to  the  master's  light. 
This  tale  believed,  the  good  man's  harmless  pride 
Was  pleased  the  bashful  neophyte  to  guide  ; 
Spread  out  his  books,  and,  moved  to  pity,  prest 
The  backward  pupil  to  the  daily  guest. 

"  So  from  a  neighbouring  valley,  where  they  deem 

My  home,  each  noon  I  cross  the  happy  stream. 

And  hail  the  eyes  already  watchful  grown, 

And  clasp  the  hand  that  trembles  in  my  own ; 

But  not  for  guilt  had  I  concealed  my  name, 

The  young  warm  passion  nursed  no  thought  of  shame ; 


68  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

The  spell  that  bound  ennobled  while  it  charm'd, 

And  Romeo's  love  Lothario's  guile  disarm'd  ; 

And  vain  the  guile  had  been  ! — impure  desire 

Round  that  chaste  light  but  hovered  to  expire ; 

Her  angel  nature  found  its  own  defence, 

Ev'n  in  the  instincts  of  its  innocence ; 

As  that  sweet  flower  which  opens  every  hue 

Of  its  frank  heart  to  eyes  content  to  view, 

But  folds  its  leaves  and  shrinks  in  sweet  disdain 

From  the  least  touch  that  would  the  bloom  profane. 

That  meekest  temper,  which  all  proof  defied, 

But  flowed  in  calm  above  a  heart  of  pride, 

A  pride  like  that  the  antique  knighthood  own'd, 

In  spotless  thought,  yet  humble  mind,  enthron'd. 

O'er  all  the  Woman  did  the  Virgin  reign. 

And  love  the  heart  might  break — it  could  not  stain. 

"  Yet  in  the  light  of  day  to  win  and  wed, 

To  boast  a  bride,  yet  not  to  own  a  shed ; 

To  doom  the  famine,  yet  proclaim  the  bliss. 

And  seal  the  ruin  in  the  nuptial  kiss ; — 

Love  shunn'd  such  madness  for  the  loved  one's  snke 

What  course  could  Prudence  sanction  Love  to  take '! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  69 

Lenient  1  knew  my  kinsman  to  a  vice ; 
But,  O,  for  folly  Cato  less  precise ! 
And  all  my  future,  in  my  kinsman  bound, 
Shadow'd  his  humours — smilM  in  him  or  frown'd  ; 
But  Uncles  still,  however  high  in  state. 
Are  mortal  men — and  Youth  has  hope  to  wait, 
And  Love  a  conqueror's  confidence  in  Fate. — 
A  secret  hymen  reconciled  in  one 
Caution  and  bliss — if  Mary  could  be  won  ? 
Hard  task !  yet  what  will  pleading  love  not  win  ? 
Silence  might  shame,  but  still  it  cloaked  no  sin. 
To  her  I  told  my  name,  rank,  doubts,  and  fears, 
And  urged  the  prayer  too  long  denied  with  tears — 
'  Reject'st  thou  still,'  I  pled,  '  well,  then  to  me 
The  pride  to  offer  all  life  holds  to  thee  ; 
I  go  to  tell  my  love,  proclaim  my  choice — 
Clasp  want,  mar  fate,  meet  ruin,  and  rejoice, 
So  that,  at  least,  when  next  we  meet,  thy  sigh 
Shall  own  this  truth — '  He  better  loved  than  V 

"  With  that,  her  hand  upon  my  own  she  laid, 
Look'd  in  my  eyes — the  sacrifice  was  made ; 


70  THE  NEAV  TI310N. 

And  blame  her  not,  if  love  that  hour  beguiled 

Into  fond  fault,  the  impulse  of  the  child — 

Alas,  she  had  no  mother  ! — Nature  moved 

Her  heart  to  mine — she  trusted,  for  she  loved  ] 

I  had  a  friend  of  lowlier  birth  than  mine, 

The  sunnier  spot  allured  the  trailing  vine. 

My  rising  fortunes  had  the  southern  air, 

And  fruit  might  bless  the  plant  that  clamber'd  there. 

My  smooth  Clanalbin ! — shrewd,  if  smooth,  was  he, 

His  soul  was  prudent,  though  his  life  was  free  ; 

Scapin  to  serve,  and  Machiavel  to  plot. 

Red-haired,  thin-lipp'd,  sly,  supple, — and  a  Scot ! 

To  him  the  double  project  I  confide. 

To  cloak  the  rite,  and  yet  to  clasp  the  bride ; 

Long  he  resisted — solemnly  he  warned, 

And  urged  the  perils  love  had  seen  and  scorned. 

At  length  subdued,  he  groaned  a  slow  consent. 

And  pledged  a  genius  practised  to  invent. 

A  priest  was  found — a  license  was  procured. 

Due  witness  hired,  and  secresy  assured ; 

All  this  his  task  : — 'tis  o'er  ; — and  Mary's  life 

Bound  up  in  one  who  dares  not  call  her  wife ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  71 

"  Alas — alas,  why  on  the  fatal  brink 

Of  the  abyss — doth  not  the  instinct  shrink  ? 

The  meaner  tribe  the  coming  storm  foresees — 

In  the  still  calm  the  bird  divines  the  breeze — 

The  ox  that  grazes  shuns  the  poison- weed — 

The  unseen  tiger  frights  afar  the  steed — 

To  man  alone  no  kind  foreboding  shows 

The  latent  horror  or  the  ambush'd  foes  ; 

O'er  each  blind  moment  hangs  the  funeral  pall, 

Heaven  shines — earth  smiles — and  night  descends  on  all. 

"  But  I ! — fond  reader  of  imagined  skies, 
Foretold  my  future  in  those  stars — her  eyes  ! 
O  heavenly  Moon,  circling  with  magic  hues 
And  mystic  beauty  all  thy  beams  suffuse, 
Is  not  in  love  thine  own  fair  secret  seen  1 
Love  smooths  the  rugged — love  exalts  the  mean ! 
Love  in  each  ray  inspires  the  hush'd  alarm, 
Love  silvers  every  shadow  into  charm  ! 

"  0  lonely  beech,  beneath  whose  bowering  sliade 
The  tryst,  encircling  Paradise,  was  made. 


72  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

How  the  heart  heard  afar  the  hurrying  feet, 

And  swell'd  to  breathless  words — '  At  last  we  meet !' 

But  Autumn  fades — dark  Winter  comes,  and  then 

Fate  from  Elysium  calls  me  back  to  men ; 

We  part ! — not  equal  is  the  anguish  ; — she 

Parts  with  all  earth  in  that  farewell  to  me  ; 

For  not  the  grate  more  bars  the  veiled  nun 

From  the  fair  world  with  which  her  soul  has  done, 

Than  love  the  heart,  that  vows,  without  recall, 

To  one,  fame,  honour,  memory,  hope,  and  all ! 

But  I ! — behold  me  in  the  dazzling  strife. 

The  gaud,  the  pomp,  the  joyous  roar  of  life, — 

Man,  with  man's  heart  insatiate,  ever  stirr'd 

By  the  crowd's  breath  to  conflict  with  the  herd ; 

Which  never  long  one  thought  alone  can  sway, — 

The  dream  fades  from  us  when  we  leap  to  day, — 

New  scenes  surround  me — new  ambitions  seize, — 

The  world  one  fever, — who  defy  disease  ? — 

Each  touch  contagion : — living  with  the  rest, 

The  world's  large  pulse  keeps  time  in  every  breast. 

Yet  still  for  her — for  her  alone,  methought. 

Its  web  of  schemes  the  vulgar  labour  wrought — 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  73 

To  ransom  fate — to  soar,  from  serfdom,  free, 
Snap  the  strong  chains  of  highborn  penury  ; 
And,  grown  as  bold  to  earth  as  to  the  skies, 
Proclaim  the  bliss  of  happy  human  ties : — 
So,  ever  scheming,  the  soothed  conscience  deem'd ! 
Fate  smiled,  and  speeded  all  for  which  I  schem'd. 
My  noble  kinsman  saw  with  grave  applause 
My  sober'd  moods,  too  wise  to  guess  the  cause. 
*  'Tis  well,'  said  he,  one  evening ;  '  you  have  caught 
From  me  the  ardour  of  the  patriot's  thought ; 
No  more  distinguished  in  the  modes  of  vice. 
Forsworn  the  race-course,  and  disdained  the  dice : 
A  nobler  race,  a  mightier  game  await 
The  soul  that  sets  its  cast  upon  the  state. 
Thoughtful,  poor,  calm,  yet  eager ;  such,  in  truth, 
He  who  is  great  in  age  should  be  in  youth. 
Lo,  your  commencement !' 

And  my  kinsman  set 
Before  the  eyes  it  brightened — the  Gazette  ! 

"  O,  how  triumphant,  Calendar  of  Fame  ! 
Halo'd  in  type,  emerged  the  aspirnnt's  name ! 

7 


74  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

«  We  send  you  second  to  a  court,  'tis  true ; 

Small,  as  befits  a  diplomat  so  new,' 

Quoth  my  wise  kinsman :  '  but  requiring  all 

Your  natural  gifts ; — to  rise  not  is  to  fall ! 

And  harkye,  stripling,  you  are  handsome,  young, 

Active,  ambitious,  and  from  statesmen  sprung ! 

Wed  well — add  wealth  to  power  by  me  possest, 

And  sleep  on  roses, — I  will  find  the  rest ! 

But  one  false  step, — pshaw,  boy !  I  do  not  preach 

Of  saws  and  morals,  his  own  code  to  each, — 

By  one  false  step,  I  mean  one  foolish  thing, 

And  the  wax  melts,  my  Icarus,  from  your  wing! 

Let  not  the  heart  the  watchful  mind  betray, — 

Enough  ! — no  answer ! — sail  the  first  of  May  !' 

"  Here,  then,  from  vapour  broke  at  last  the  sun  ! 

Station,  career,  fame,  fortune,  all  begun ! 

Now,  greater  need  than  ever  to  conceal 

The  holy  spring  that  moved  the  onward  wheel ; 

And  half  forgetting  what  I  wish'd  forgot. 

Each  thought  divides  the  absent  from  my  lot. 

One  night,  escaped  my  kinsman's  hall,  which  blazed 

With  dames  who  smiled,  and  gartered  peers  who  praised, 


THE   NEW  TIMOJV.  / 

I  seek  my  lonely  home, — ascend  the  stair, — 

Gain  my  dim  room, — what  stranger  daunts  me  there? 

A  gray  old  man  !— ~I  froze  his  look  before ; 

The  Gorgon's  eye  scarce  fixed  its  victim  more, — 

The  bride's  sad  father  on  the  bridegroom's  floor ! 

In  the  brief  pause,  how  terrible  and  fast, 

As  on  the  drowning  seaman,  rush'd  the  past ! 

How  had  he  learn'd  my  name, — abode, — the  tie 

That  bound? — for  all  spoke  lightning  in  his  eye. 

Lo,  on  the  secret  in  whose  darkness  lay 

Power,  future,  fortune,  poured  the  hateful  ray ! 

Thus  silence  ceased. 

<  When  first  my  home  you  deign'd 
To  seek,  what  found  you  ? — cheeks  no  tears  had  stain'd  ! 
Untroubled  hearts,  and  conscience  clear  as  day  ; 
And  lips  that  loved  where  now  they  fear  to  pray : 
'Twixt  kin  and  kin,  sweet  commune  undefil'd — 
The  grateful  father — the  confiding  child  ! 
What  now  that  home  ? — behold  !  its  change  may  speak 
In  hair  thus  silvered — in  the  furrowed  cheek  ! 
My  child' — (he  paused,  and  in  his  voice,  not  eyes, 
Tears  seek  the  vent  indignant  pride  denies) 


ib  THE  KEW  TIMON. 

'  My  child — God  pardon  me — I  was  too  proud 
To  call  her  daughter  ! — what  shall  call  the  crowd  1 
Man — man,  she  cowers  beneath  a  Father's  eye, 
And  shuns  his  blessing — with  one  wish  to  die, 
And  I  that  deathbed  will  resign'd  endure 
If — speak  the  word — the  soul  that  parts  is  pure  V 

"  '  Who  dares  deny  it?'  I  began,  but  check't 
In  the  warm  burst — cold  wisdom  hiss'd — 'Reflect, 
Thy  fears  had  outstripp'd  truth — as  yet  unknown. 
The  vows,  the  bond  ! — are  these  for  thee  to  own  ? ' 
The  father  mark'd  my  pause,  and  changing  cheek, 

*  Go  on  ! — why  falter  if  the  truth  thou  speak? 

*  Who  dares  deny  it  ?' — Thou  ! — thy  lip — thine  eye- 
Thy  heart — thy  conscience — these  are  what  deny  ? 
O  Heaven,  that  I  were  not  thy  priest !' 

His  look 
Grew  stern  and  dark — the  natural  Adam  shook 
The  reverend  form  an  instant ; — like  a  charm 
The  pious  memory  stay'd  the  lifted  arm  ; 
And  shrunk  to  self-rebuke  the  threatening  word, 
'  Man's  not  my  weapons — I  thy  servant,  Lord  !' 


THE   NEW  TIMON.  77 


Moved,  I  replied — '  Could  love  suffice  alone 

In  this  hard  world, — the  love  to  thee  made  known, 

A  bliss  to  cherish,  'twere  a  pride  to  own  : 

And  if  I  pause,  and  if  I  falter — yet 

I  hide  no  shame,  I  strive  with  no  regret. 

Believe  mine  honour — wait  the  ripening  hour. 

Time  hides  the  germ — the  season  brings  the  flower.' 

Wildly  he  cried — '  What  words  are  these? — but  one 

Sentence  I  ask — her  sire  should  call  thee  so7t  ! 

Hist,  let  the  heavens  but  hear  us  ! — in  her  life 

Another  lives — if  pure  she  is  thy  wife  ! — 

Now  answer !' 

I  had  answered,  as  became 
The  native  manhood  and  the  knightly  name  ; 
But  shall  I  own  it  1  the  suspicious  chill. 
The  world-wise  know,  froze  up  the  arrested  will, 
Whose  but  her  lips,  sworn  never  to  betray. 
Had  failed  their  oath,  and  dragged  my  name  to  day? 
True  she  had  left  the  veil  upon  the  shrine, 
But  set  the  snare  to  make  confession  mine. 
Thus  half  resentment,  half  disdain,  repell'd 
The  man's  frank  justice,  and  the  truth  withheld. 
1* 


78  THE   NEW  TlMOi\, 

Yet,  so  invoked,  I  scorn'd  at  least  the  lie, 
And  met  the  question  with  this  proud  reply — 
'If  thou  dost  doubt  thy  child,  depart  secure. 
My  love  is  sinless  and  her  soul  is  pure. 
This  by  mine  honour,  and  to  Heaven,  I  swear ! 
Dost  thou  ask  more  ? — then  bid  thy  child  declare  ; 
What  she  proclaims  as  truth,  myself  will  own  ; 
What  she  withholds,  alike  I  leave  unknown  ; 
What  she  demands,  I  am  prepared  to  yield  ; 
Now  doubt  or  spurn  me — but  my  lips  are  seal'd.' 
I  ceased,  and  stood  with  haughty  mien  and  eye. 
That  seemed  all  further  question  to  defy  ; 
He  gazed,  as  if  still  spell'd  in  hope  or  fear. 
And  hungering  for  the  word  that  failed  the  ear. 
At  last,  and  half  unconscious,  in  the  thrall 
Of  the  cold  awe,  he  groaned — 

*  And  is  this  all  ? 
Courage,  poor  child — there  may  be  justice  yet — 
Justice,  Heaven,  justice  1' 

With  that  doubtful  threat 
He  turn'd,  was  gone  ! — that  look  of  stern  despair, 
That  slow  step  trembling,  heavy,  on  the  stair, 


THE  ]SE\V  TIMON. 

The  clapping  door — and  then  that  void  and  chill, 

That  aching  silence,  save  the  heart,  all  still — 

That  sense  of  something  gone,  which  yet  behind 

Has  left  a  ghost,  a  nightmare  of  the  mind, 

The  larva  of  the  brain,  that  wizard  keep. 

The  spectral  memory  gleaming  through  our  sleep ! 

"  Next  day,  the  sire  my  noble  kinsman  sought. 
One  ruling  senates  must  be  just  he  thought. 
What  chanced,  untold — what  followed  may  declare, 
Behold  me  summoned  to  my  uncle's  chair  ! 
See  his  cold  eye — I  saw  my  ruin  there  1 
I  saw  and  shrunk  not,  for  a  sullen  pride 
Embraced  alike  the  kinsman  and  the  bride  ; 
Scorn'd  here,  the  seeming  snare  by  cunning  set. 
And  there,  coarse  thraldom,  with  rebellion  met. 

«*  Brief  was  my  Lord — 

'  An  old  man  tells  me,  sir, 
You  woo  his  child,  to  wed  her  you  demur  ; 
Who  knows;  perhaps — (and  such  his  shrewd  surmise) 
The  noose  is  knit — you  but  conceal  the  ties ! 


80  THE  NEW  TI310N. 

Please  to  inform  me,  ere  I  go  to  court, 

How  stands  the  matter  ? — sir,  my  time  is  short.' 

"  '  My  Lord,'  I  answered,  with  unquailing  brow, 

'  Not  to  such  ears  should  youth  its  faults  avow  ; 

And,  grant  me  pardon  if  I  boldly  speak, 

Youth  may  have  secrets  honour  shuns  to  seek. 

I  own  I  love,  proclaim  that  love  as  pure  ; 

If  this  be  sin — its  sentence  I  endure. 

All  else  belongs  unto  that  solemn  shrine, 

In  the  veil'd  heart,  which  manhood  holds  divine. 

Men's  hearths  are  sacred,  so  our  laws  decree  ; 

Are  hearts  less  sacred  ?  mine  at  least  is  free. 

Suspect,  disown,  forsake  me,  if  thou  wilt, 

I  prize  the  freedom  where  thou  seest  the  guilt.' 

My  kinsman's  hand  half  shaded  the  keen  eye, 

Which  glanced  askant ; — he  paused  in  his  reply. 

At  length,  perchance,  his  practised  wit  foresaw 

Threats  could  not  shake  where  interest  failed  to  awe  ; 

And  judged  it  wise  to  construe  for  the  best 

The  all  I  hid,  the  little  I  confest ; 


THE  NEW  T1310A.  81 

Calmly  he  answered — 

*  Sir,  I  like  this  heat, 
Duper  or  duped,  a  well-bred  man's  discreet ; 
Take  but  this  hint — (one  can't  have  all  in  life,) 
You  lose  the  uncle  if  you  win  the  wife. 
In  this  you  choose — Rank,  Station,  Power,  Career ; 
In  that,  Bills,  Babies,  and  the  Bench,  I  fear. 
Hush  ! — '  the  least  said' — (old  proverb,  sir,  but  true  !) 
As  yet  your  fault  indulgently  I  view — 
Words, — notes  (sad  stuff!) — some  promise  rashly  made — 
Action  for  breach — that  scandal  must  be  stay'd. 
I  trust  such  sciapes  will  teach  you  to  beware  ; 
Twill  cost  some  hundreds — that  be  my  affair. 
Depart  at  once — to-morrow — nay,  to-day, 
When  fairly  gone,  there  will  be  less  to  pay  !' 
So  spoke  the  Statesman,  whom  experience  told 
The  weight  of  passion  in  the  scales  of  gold. 
Pleased  I  escape,  but  how  reprieve  enjoy  l 
One  word  from  her  distrusted  could  destroy  ! 
Yet  that  distrust  the  whispering  heart  belied, 
Self  ceased,  and  anger  into  pity  died, 


82  THE  KEW  TIMON. 

I  thought  of  Mary  in  her  desolate  hour, 
And  shuddered  at  the  blast,  and  trembled  for  the  flower. 
Why  not  go  seek  her  ? — chide  the  impatient  snare, 
Or  if  faith  lingered,  win  it  to  forbear : 
Now  was  the  time,  no  jealous  father  there ! 
Swift  as  the  thought  impell'd  me,  I  obey'd  ! 
'Tis  night ;  once  more  I  greet  the  moonlit  shade ; 
Once  more  I  see  the  happ)^  murmuring  rill  ; 
The  white  cot  bowered  beneath  the  pastoral  hill  ! 
An  April  night,  when,  after  sparkling  showers. 
The  dewy  gems  betray  the  cradled  flowers. 
As  if  some  sylphid,  startled  from  its  bed 
In  the  rathe  blossom  by  the  mortal's  tread. 
Had  left  behind  its  pearly  coronal. — 
Bright  shone  the  stars  on  Earth's  green  banquet  hall ; 
You  seemM,  abroad,  to  see,  to  feel,  to  hear 
The  new  life  flushing  through  the  virgin  year ; 
The  visible  growth — the  freshness  and  the  balm; 
The  pulse  of  Nature  throbbing  through  the  calm : 
As  wakeful,  over  every  happy  thing, 
Watch'd,  through  the  hush,  the  Earth's  young  mother — 
Spring! 


THE  NEW  TIMOX. 


83 


Calm  from  the  lattice  shot  a  steady  ray  ; 

Calm  on  the  sward  its  silvery  lustre  lay ; 

And  reach'd,  to  glad,  the  glancing  waves  at  play. 

I  stood  and  gazed  within  the  quiet  room  ; — 

Gazed  on  her  cheek ; — there,  spring  had  lost  its  bloom 

Alone  she  sate  ! — Alone  ! — that  worn-out  word, 

So  idly  spoken,  and  so  coldly  heard ; 

Yet  all  that  poets  sing,  and  grief  hath  known. 

Of  hope  laid  waste,  knells  in  that  word — Alone  ! 

"  Who  contemplates,  aspires,  or  dreams,  is  not 
Alone :  he  peoples  with  rich  thoughts  the  spot. 
The  only  loneliness — how  dark  and  blind ! — 
Is  that  where  fancy  cannot  dupe  the  mind ; — 
Where  the  heart,  sick,  despondent,  tired  with  all. 
Looks  joyless  round  and  sees  the  dungeon  wall ; — 
When  even  God  is  silent,  and  the  curse 
Of  torpor  settles  on  the  universe  ; — 
When  prayer  is  powerless,  and  one  sense  of  dearth 
Abysses  all,  save  solitude,  on  earth  ! 
So  sate  the  bride  ! — the  drooping  form,  the  eye 
Vacant,  yet  fixed, — that  air  which  Misery, 


84  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

The  heart's  Medusa,  hardens  into  stone, 
Sculptured  the  Death  which  dvvelleth  in  the  lone  ! 

"  O,  the  wild  burst  of  joy, — the  life  that  came 

Swift,  brightening,    bounding   through    the    lips    and 

frame, 
When  o'er  the  floors  I  stole,  and  whispered  soft  her 

name ! 
'  Come — come  at  last !     O,  rapture  !' 

Wherefore,  heaven. 
Is  such  strange  power  o'er  earth's  best  spirits  given 
To  earth's  worst  clay  1 — What  was  there  in  my  coarse 
Saturnian  planet,  to  become  the  source 
Of  light,  the  sun  dispensing  all  that  shone 
On  that  pure  star  so  near  the  sapphire  throne  ? 

"  '  So  thou  art  come  !' 

*  Hush !  say  whose  lips  revealed 
All  these  soft  traitors  swore  to  guard  concealed — 
Our  love — my  name  V 

'  Not  I— not  I — thy  wife  ! 
Oh,  truth  to  thee  more  dear  than  fame — than  life: 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  85 

A  friend — my  father's  friend — the  secret  told  ; 
How  guess'd  I  know  not : — Oh  !  if  Love  controil'd 
My  heart  that  hour — that  bitter  hour — when,  there 

Bent  that  old  man,  who Husband,  hear  my  prayer  ! — 

Have  mercy  on  my  father ! — break,  Oh,  break 
This  crushing  silence ! — bid  his  daughter  speak, 
And  say  '  Thou'rt  not  dishonour'd  V 

'  If  thou  wilt 
Tell  all ; — dishonour  not  alone  in  guilt ! 
Men's  eyes  dishonour  in  the  fallen  see ; — 
Speak,  and  dishonour  thou  inflict'st  on  me  ! 
The  debt,  the  want,  the  beggary,  and  the  shame, — 
The  pauper  branded  on  the  highborn  name ! 
Speak  and  inflict, — I  still  can  spurn, — the  doom  ! 
Unveil  the  altar  to  prepare  the  tomb ! 
I,  who  already  in  my  grasp  behold, 
Bright  from  Hesperian  fields,  the  fruit  of  gold, 
By  which  alone  the  glorious  prize  we  gain, 
Foil'd  of  the  goal  will  die  upon  the  plain ! 
I  own  two  brides,  both  dear  alike,  and  see 
In  one  Ambition — in  the  other  Thee ! 
8 


86  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Destroy  thy  rival,  and  to  her  destroyed 

Succeeds  despair  to  make  the  world  a  void.' 

Then,  with  stern  frankness  to  that  shrinking  ear, 

I  told  my  hopes, — in  her  my  only  fear; 

Told,  with  a  check  no  humbling  blushes  dyed, 

How  met  the  sire — how  unavowed  the  bride ! 

*  Thus  have  I  wrong'd — this  cruel  silence  mine  ; 

And  now  be  truth,  and  truth  is  vengeance,  thine!' 

I  ceased  to  speak  ;  lo,  she  had  ceased  to  weep ; 

Her  white  lips  writhed,  as  Suffering  in  its  sleep  ,* 

And  o'er  the  frame  a  tremulous  shudder  went, 

As  every  life-vein  to  the  source  was  sent: 

The  very  sense  seemed  absent  from  the  look. 

And  with  the  Heart,  its  temple,  Reason  shook  ! 

So  there  was  silence  ;  such  a  silence  broods 

In  winter  nights,  o'er  frost-bound  solitudes, 

Darkness,  and  ice,  and  stillness  all  in  one, — 

The  silence  without  life — the  withering  without  sun. 

But  o'er  that  silence,  as  at  night's  full  noon. 

Through  breathless  cloud,  shimmers  the  sudden  moon, 

A  sad  but  heavenly  smile  a  moment  stirr'd, 

And  heralded  the  martyr's  patient  word. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  87 

*  Fear  not,  pursue  thy  way  to  fortune,  fame, 
I  will  not  haunt  thy  glory  with  my  shame. 
Betray  !  avenge ! — For  ever,  until  thou 
Proclaim  the  bond  and  ratify  the  vow, 
Closed  in  this  heart,  as  lamps  within  the  tomb. 
Shall  waste  the  light,  that  lives  amidst  the  gloom, — 
That  lives,  for  oh !  the  day  shall  come  at  length, 
Though    late,    though    slow, — (give    hope,  for  hope  is 

strength !) — 
When,  from  a  father's  breast  no  more  exil'd. 
The  wife  may  ask  forgiveness  for  the  child  V  " 

*'  And  so  you  parted  V  with  a  moistened  eye. 
Said  Morvale,  "  nay,  man,  spare  me  the  reply ; 

Too  much  the  Eve  has  moved  me" 

"  Not  to  feel 
That  for  the  serpent  which  thy  looks  reveal," 
Said  Arden,  sadly  smiling ;  "  Yet,  in  truth, 
See  how  the  gray  world  grafts  its  age  on  youth ; 
See  how  we  learn  to  prize  the  bullion  Vice, 
Coined  in  all  shapes,  yet  still  but  Avarice ; 
The  stamp  may  vary, — you  the  coin  may  call 

*  Ambition,'  '  Power,'  '  Success,' — but  Gold  is  all. 


88  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Mine  is  the  memoir  of  a  selfish  age, — 
Turn  every  leaf — slight  difference  in  the  page — 
Through  each,  the  same  fierce  struggle,  to  secure 
Earth's  one  great  end — distinction  from  the  Poor ; 
All  our  true  wealth,  like  alchemists  of  old, 
Fused  in  the  furnace  for  a  grain  of  gold." 

TIL 

LORD  ARDEN'S  tale  CONTINUED. 

"  Well  then,  we  parted, — to  make  brief  the  tale, 

I  take  my  orders,  and  my  leave,  set  sail ; 

For  weeks,  for  months,  fond  letters,  long  nor  few, 

Keep  hope  alive  with  love  for  ever  new  : 

If  she  had  suffered,  she  betray'd  it  not ; 

All  save  one  sweetness — '  that  we  loved' — forgot. 

She  never  named  her  father ; — once  indeed 

The  name  was  writ — but  blurr'd ;  it  was  decreed 

That  she  should  fulfil  the  martyr- measure, —  hide. 

Not  the  dart  only,  but  the  bleeding  side, 

And,  wholly  generous  in  the  offering  made, 

Veil  even  sorrow,  lest  it  should  upbraid. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  89 

"  At  length  one  letter  came — the  last ;  more  blest 
In  faith,  in  love,  false  hope,  than  all  the  rest, 
But  at  the  close  some  hastier  lines  appear, 
Tremblingly  writ,  and.stain'd  with  many  a  tear, 
In  which,  less  said  than  timorously  implied, 
(The  maid  still  blushing  through  the  secret  bride) — 
I  heard  her  heart  through  that  far  distance  beat — 
The  hour  Eve's  happiest  daughter  dreads  to  meet, — 
The  hour  of  Nature's  agony  was  nigh, — 
Husband  and  father,  false  one,  where  was  I  ? 
Slow  day  on  slow  day,  unrevealing,  crept, 
And  still  its  ice  the  freezing  silence  kept : 
Fear  seized  my  soul,  I  could  no  longer  brook 
The  voiceless  darkness  which  the  daylight  took, — 
I  feigned  excuse  for  absence  ; — left  the  shore  ;— 
Fair  blow  the  winds  : — Behold  her  home  once  more ! 
Her  home !  a  desert ! — still,  though  rank  and  wild, 
On  the  rank  grass  the  heedless  floweret  smil'd ; 
Still  by  the  porch  you  heard  the  ungrateful  bee  ; 
Still  brawl'd  the  brooklet's  unremembering  glee ; 
But  they — the  souls  of  the  sweet  pastoral  ground  ? — 
Green  o'er  the  father,  rose  the  sullen  mound ! 
8* 


90  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Amidst  his  poor  he  slept ;  his  end  was  known, — 

Life's  record  rounded  with  the  funeral  stone : 

But  she  ?— but  Mary  1 — but  my  child  1 — what  dews 

Fall  on  their  graves  ? — what  herbs  which  heaven  renews 

Pall  their  pure  clay  ? — Oh  !  were  it  mine  at  least 

To  weep,  beloved,  where  your  relics  rest ! — 

Bear  with  me,  Morvale, — pity  if  you  can — 

These  thoughts  unman  me — no,  they  prove  me  man  !" 

"  Man  of  the  Cities,"  with  a  muttered  scorn, 

Groaned  the  stern  Nomad  from  the  lands  of  Morn, — 

"  Man  of  the  sleek,  far-looking  prudence,  which 

Beggar's  life's  May,  life's  Autumn  to  enrich  ; 

Which,  the  deed  doing,  halts  not  in  its  course, 

But,  the  deed  done,  finds  comfort  in  remorse. 

Man,  in  whom  sentiment,  the  bloodless  shade 

Of  noble  passion,  alternates  with  trade, — 

Hard  in  his  error — feeble  in  his  tears. 

And  huckstering  love,  yet  prattling  of  the  spheres !" 

So  mused  the  sombre  savage,  till  the  pale 

And  self-gnawed  worldling  nerved  him  to  his  tale  : — 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  91 

"  The  hireling  watch'd  the  bed  where  Mary  lay, 
In  stranger  arms  my  first-born  saw  the  day. 
Below, — unseen  his  travail,  all  unknown 
His  war  with  Nature, — sate  the  sire  alone  : 
He  had  not  thrust  the  one  he  still  believed 
If  silent,  sinless, — or  in  sin  deceived, 
He  had  not  thrust  her  from  a  father's  door, — 
So  Shame  came  in,  and  cowered  upon  the  floor. 
And  face  to  face  with  Shame,  he  sate  to  hear 
The  groan  above  bring  torture  to  his  ear. 

"  In  that  sad  night,  when  the  young  mother  slept, 

Forth  from  his  door  the  elder  mourner  crept ; 

Absent  for  days,  none  knowing  whither  bent, 

Till  back  returned  abruptly  as  he  went. 

With  a  swift  tremulous  stride  he  climb'd  the  stair, 

Through  the  closed  chamber  gleam'd  his  silver  hair. 

And  Mary  heard  his  voice  soft — pitying — as  in  prayer  ' 

'  Child,  child,  I  was  too  hard  ! — But  wo  is  wild  ; 

Now  I  know  all ! — again  I  clasp  my  child !' 

Within  his  arms,  upon  his  heart  again 

His  Mary  lay,  and  strove  for  words  in  vain  ; 


92  THE  NEW  TI3I0N. 

She  strove  for  words,  but  better  spoke  through  tears 
The  love,  the  heart,  through  silence,  vents  and  hears. 

"  All  this  I  gathered  from  the  nurse,  who  saw 

The  scene,  which  dews  from  hireling  eyes  could  draw ; 

So  far; — her  sob  the  pastor  heard,  and  turn'd, 

Waved  his  wan  hand,  nor  what  more  chanced  she  learned. 

*'  Next  morn  in  death  the  happier  father  lay, 

From  sleep  to  Heaven  his  soul  had  pass'd  away  ; 

He  had  but  lived  to  pardon  and  to  bless 

His  child  ; — emotion  kills  in  its  excess, — 

And  that  task  done,  why  longer  on  the  rack 

Stretch  the  worn  frame? — God's  mercy  call'd  him  back  ! 

"  The  day  they  buried  him,  while  yet  the  strife 
Of  sense  and  memory  raged  for  death  and  life 
In  Mary's  shattered  brain,  her  father's  friend, 
Whose  hand,  perchance,  had  sped  him  to  his  end, 
Whose  zeal  officious  had  explored,  revealed 
My  name,  the  half,  worse  half,  of  all  concealed, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  93 

Sought  her,  and  saw  alone :  When  gone,  a  change 
Came  o'er  the  victim  terrible  and  strange  ; 
All  grief  seem'd  hush'd — a  stern  tranquillity 
Calm'd  the  wan  brow  and  fixed  the  glassy  eye ; 
She  spoke  not,  moved  not,  wept  not, — on  her  breast 
Slept  Earth's  new  stranger — not  more  deep  its  rest. — 
They  feared  her  in  that  mood — with  noiseless  tread 
Stole  from  the  room,  and,  ere  the  morn,  she  fled — 
Gone  the  young  Mother  with  her  babe  ! — no  trace  ; 
As  the  wind  goes — she  vanish'd  from  the  place  ; 
They  search'd  the  darkness  of  the  wood,  they  pried 
Into  the  secrets  of  the  tempting  tide, 
In  vain, — unseen  on  earth  as  in  the  wave. 
Where  life  found  refuge  or  despair  a  grave." 
"  And  is  this  all  ?"  said  Morvale— 

"  No,  my  thought 
Guess'd  at  the  clue ;  her  father's  friend  I  sought, 
A  stern  hard  man,  of  Calvin's  iron  mould. 
And  yet  I  moved  him,  and  his  tale  he  told. 
It  seemed,  (by  me  unmarked,)  amidst  the  rest, 
My  uncle's  board  had  known  this  homely  guest. 


94  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Our  evil  star  had  led  the  guest  one  day, 

Where  through  the  lone  glade  wound  our  lover's  way, 

To  view  with  Age's  hard,  suspecting  eyes, 

The  highborn  courtier  in  the  student's  guise. 

Thus,  when  the  father,  startled  to  vague  fears, 

By  his  child's  waning  cheek  and  unrevealing  tears, 

First  to  his  brother  priest  for  counsel  came. 

He  urged  stern  question — track'd  the  grief  to  shame, 

Guess'd  the  undoer,  and  disclosed  the  name. 

"  Time  went — the  priest  had  still  a  steady  trust 
In  Mary's  honour,  but  to  mine  unjust, 
Divined  some  fraud — explored,  and  found  a  clue, 
There  had  been  marriage,  if  the  rites  were  due ; 
Had  learned  Clanalbin's  name,  as  one  whose  eye 
Had  seen,  whose  witness  might  attest  the  tie. 
This  news  to  Mary's  father  was  convey'd 
The  eve  her  infant  on  her  heart  was  laid. 

"  That  night  he  left  his  home  he  did  not  rest 
Till  found  Clanalbin— '  Well,  and  he  confest?' 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  95 

I  cried  impatient — my  informer's  eye 

Flash'd  fire — '  Confess'd  the  fraud,'  was  his  reply. 

'  The  fraud  !' — '  The  impious  form,  the  vile  disguise  ! 

Mock  priest,  false  marriage,  hell's  whole  woof  of  lies  !' 

Lies ! — had  the  sound  earth  opened  its  abyss 

Beneath  my  feet,  my  soul  had  shuddered  less. 

Lies — but  not  mine  ! — his  own  ! — not  mine  such  ill, 

0  wife,  I  fly — to  right, — avenge,  and  claim  thee  still !" 

"  Thy  hand — I  wrong'd  thee,"  Morvale  faltered,  while 
His  strong  heart  heaved — "  Thou  didst  avenge  the  guile  ? 
Thou  foundstthy  friend — thy  witness — well!  and  he?" — 
"  Had  spoken  truth,  the  truth  of  perfidy. 
This  man  had  loved  me  in  his  own  dark  way, 
Loved  for  past  kindness  in  our  wilder  day, 
Loved  for  the  future  which,  obscure  for  him, 
Link'd  with  my  fate,  with  that  grew  bright  or  dim. 

1  told  thee  how  he  warred  with  my  intent. 
The  strong  dissuasion,  and  the  slow  consent, 
The  slow  consent  but  veiled  the  laboured  wile. 
That  I  might  yet  be  great,  he  grovelled  to  be  vile. 


96  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

^Twas  a  false  hymen — a  mock  priest — and  she 
The  pure,  dishonoured — the  dishonourer  free  ! 

«  This  then  the  tale  that,  while  it  snappM  the  chord, 
Still  to  the  father's  heart  the  child  restored, 
This  told  to  her  by  the  hard  zealot's  tongue, 
Had  the  last  hope  from  spoil'd  existence  wrung ; 
Had  driven  the  outcast  through  the  waste  to  roam. 
And  with  the  altar  shattered  ev'n  the  home. 
No  !  trust  ev'n  then, — ev'n  then,  hope  was  not  o'er  : 
One  morn  the  wanderer  reach'd  Clanalbin's  door. 
O  steadfast  saint !  amidst  the  lightning's  scathe. 
Still  to  the  anchor  clung  the  lingerer  Faith ; 
Still  through  the  tempest  of  a  darkened  brain. 
Where  misery  gnawed  and  memory  racked  in  vain, 
The  last  lone  angel  that  deserts  the  grief 
Of  noble  souls,  survived  and  smiled, — Belief  ! 
There  had  she  come,  herself  myself  to  know. 
And  bowed  the  head,  and  waited  for  the  blow ! 
What  matter  how  the  villain  soothed,  or  sought 
To  mask  the  crime, — enough  that  it  was  wrought ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  97 

She  heard  in  silence, — when  all  said,  all  learned, 

Still  silent  lingered ;  then  a  flush  returned 

To  the  pale  cheek, — the  Woman  and  the  Wrong 

Reared  the  light  form, — the  voice  came  clear  and  strong. 

*  Tell  him  my  father's  grave  is  closed  ;  the  dread 

Of  shame  sleeps  with  him — dying  with  the  dead ; 

Tell  him  on  earth  we  meet  no  more ; — in  vain 

Would  he  redress  the  wrong,  and  clear  the  stain, — 

His  child  is  nameless  ;  and  his  bride — what  now 

To  her,  too  late,  the  mockery  of  the  vow? — 

I  was  his  wife — his  equal — to  endure 

Earth's  slander  1     Yes  ! — because  my  soul  was  pure  ! 

Now,  were  he  kneeling  here, — fame,  fortune  won, — 

My  pride  would  bar  him  from  the  fallen  one  ! 

Say  this  ,•  if  more  he  seek  my  fate,  reply — 

Once  stain  the  ermine,  and  its  fate — to  die !' 

"  I  need  not  tell  thee  if  my  fury  burst 
Against  the  wretch — the  accurser — the  accurst ! 
I  need  not  tell  thee  if  I  sought  each  trace 
That  lured  false  hope  to  wo's  lorn  resting  place ; 
9 


98  THE   NEW  TIBION. 

If,  when  all  vain,  gold,  toil,  and  art  essayed. 

Still  in  my  sunlight  stalked  the  avenging  shade, 

Lost  to  my  life  for  ever; — on  the  ground 

Where  dwell  the  spectres — Conscience — ever  found  !" 

"  True  was  the  preface  to  thy  gloomy  tale  ; 

Pity  can  soothe  not — counsel  not  avail," 

Said  Morvale,  moodily.     "  What  bliss  foregone ! 

What  years  of  rich  life  wasted  !     What  a  throne 

In  the  arch  heaven  abandoned  !     And  for  what  ? 

Darkness  and  gold ! — the  slave's  most  slavish  lot! 

Thy  choice  forsook  the  light — the  day  divine — 

God's  loving  air — for  bondage  and  the  mine ! 

O  !  what  delight  to  struggle  side  by  side 

With  one  loved  soother ! — up  the  steep  to  guide 

Her  faithful  steps — unshrinking  from  the  thorn  ; 

And  front,  with  stout  breast,  the  down-rushing  scorn ! 

And  when  firm  will  and  gallant  heart  had  won. 

The  hill-top  opening  to  the  steadfast  sun. 

Look  o'er  the  perils  of  the  vanquished  way. 

And  bless  the  toil  through  which  the  victory  lay, 


THE   NEW  TIMON.  99 

And  murmur — '  Which  the  sweeter  fate,  to  dare 
With  thee  the  evil,  or  with  thee  to  share 
The  good  V     Nay,  haunting  must  thine  error  be, 
Thee,  Camdeo  gave  the  blest  Amrita  tree* 
The  ambrosia  of  the  gods, — to  scorn  the  prize, 
And  choose  the  Champacf  for  its  golden  dyes : 
Thou  hast  forsaken — (thou  must  bear  the  grief) — 
The  immortal  fruitage  for  the  withering  leaf!" 

"  Nay,"  answered  Arden,  writhing,  "  cease  to  chide; 
Who  taunts  the  ordeal  should  the  fire  have  tried. 
If  Fortune's  priests  had  trained  thy  soul,  like  mine, 
To  worship  Fortune  as  the  holiest  shrine. 
Perchance  my  error,  cynic,  had  been  thine !" 


*  The  Amrita  is  the  name  given  by  the  mythologists  of 
Thibet,  (as  Sir  William  Jones  truly  informs  us,)  to  the 
heavenly  tree  which  yields  its  ambrosial  fruits  to  the  gods. 

t  The  Champac,  a  flower  of  a  bright  gold  colour,  with 
which  the  Indian  women  are  fond  of  adorning  their  hair. 
Moore  alludes  to  the  custom  in  the  '-  Veiled  Prophet." 

'-  The  maid  of  India  blest  again  to  hold 
In  her  full  lap  the  Champac's  leaves  of  gold,"  &c. 


100  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

"  Pardon,"  said  Morvale ;  "  and,  my  taunt  to  shame, 
Know  me  thus  weak, — I  envy  while  I  blame ; 
Thou  hast  been  loved  !     And  had  I  erred  like  thee, 
Mine  had  been  crime,  from  which  thy  soul  is  free. 

Thy  g  Ptler  breast  the  traitor  could  forgive " 

"  Never  !"  cried  Arden — 

"  Does  the  Traitor  liveV 
And  as  the  car  that  hissing  whisper  thrill'd, 
That  calm  stern  eye  the  very  life-blood  chill'd  ; 
For  there,  the  instinct  Cain  bequeathed  us,  spoke, 
And  from  the  chain  the  wild's  fierce  savage  broke. 
"  O  yes  !"  the  fiery  Alien  thus  renewed  ; 
"  I  know  how  holy  life  by  Law  is  viewed  ; 
I  know  how  all  life's  glory  may  be  marr'd, 
If  safe  the  clay,  which,  as  life's  all,  ye  guard. 
Law — Law  !  what  is  it  but  the  word  for  gold  ? 
Revenge  is  crime,  if  taken — Law,  if  sold  ! 
Vile  tongues,  vile  scribes,  may  rot  your  name  away, 
But  Law  protects  you, — with  a  fine  to  pay ! 
The  child  dishonoured — the  adulterous  wife — 
Gold  requites  all,  save  this  base  garment — life  1 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  101 

SOf  life  alone  is  sacred  ! — so,  your  law 

Hems  the  worm's  carcass  with  a  godhead's  awe  ; 

So,  if  some  mighty  wrong  with  black  despair 

Blots  out  your  sun,  and  taints  to  plague  the  air, 

If,  with  a  human  impulse  shrinks  the  soul 

Back  from  the  dross,  which  compensates  the  whole ; 

If  from  the  babbling  court,  the  legal  toil. 

And  the  lashed  lackey's  guerdon,  ye  recoil. 

And  seize  your  vengeance  with  your  own  right  arm. 

How  every  dastard  quivers  with  alarm  ! 

Mine  be  the  heart  that  can  itself  defend — 

Hate  to  the  foe,  devotion  to  the  friend  ! — 

The  fearless  trust,  and  the  relentless  strife ; 

Honour  unsold,  and  wrong  avenged  with  life !" 

He  ceased,  with  trembling  lip  and  haughty  crest, 
The  native  heathen  labouring  in  the  breast ! 
As  waves  some  pine,  with  all  its  storm  of  boughs. 
O'er  the  black  gulf  Norwegian  winds  arouse, 
Shook  that  strong  spirit,  gloomy  and  sublime. 
Bending  with  troubled  thought  above  the  abyss  of  crime ! 
9=^ 


102  THE  NEW  TI3ION. 

Long  was  the  silence,  till,  to  calm  restor'd. 

The  moody  Indian,  and  the  startled  lord. 

"  And  yet,"  resumed  the  first,  with  softer  mien, 

And  lip  that  smiled,  half  mocking,  yet  serene, 

"  Not  long  thy  sorrow  dimm'd  thy  life  ; — unless 

Men's  envy  wrong  thee,  thou  might'st  more  confess 

Of  loves,  perchance  as  true  and  as  deceived ; 

Of  rose-wreaths  withered  in  the  hands  that  weaved. 

Talk  to  the  world  of  Arden's  dazzling  lord, 

And  tales  of  joyous  love  go  round  the  board  ; 

Who,  if  adoring  less,  by  beauty  more  adored  ?" 

"  III  dost  thou  read  the  human  heart,  my  friend, 
If  bounding  man's  life  with  the  novel's  end  ; 
Where  lover's  married,  ever  after  love — 
To  birds  alone  the  turtle  and  the  dove  ! 
Where  wicked  men,  (if  I  be  of  the  gang,) 
Repent,  turn  hermits,  or  cut  throats  and  hang ! 
Our  souls  repent, — our  lives  but  rarely  change ; 
Grief  halts  awhile,  then  goads  us  on  to  range. 
More  wooed  than  wooing,  scarce  I  feigned  to  feel — 
What  magic  to  the  magnet  draws  the  sleel  1 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  103 

XVealth  soon  grew  mine,  the  parasital  fame 

Concealed  the  nature  while  it  deck'd  the  name ; 

Kinsman  on  kinsman  died,  each  death  brought  gold  ; 

In  birth,  wealth,  fame,  strange  charms  the  sex  behold ! 

The  outward  grace  the  life  of  courts  bestows, 

The  tongue  that  learns  unconsciously  to  gloze, 

All  drew  to  mine  the  fates  I  could  but  mar  ; 

And  Aphrodite  was  my  native  star  1 

Forgive  the  boast,  not  blessings  these,  but  banes. 

If  spring  sows  only  flowers,  small  fruit  the  autumn  gains  ! 

I  mark  my  grave  coevals  gather  round 

Their  harvest-home,  their  sheaves  for  garners  bound  ; 

And  I,  that  planted  but  the  garden,  see 

How  the  blooms  fade !  no  harvest  waits  for  me !" 

"  Yet,  didst  thou  never  love  again?  as  o'er 
The  soft  stream,  gliding  by  the  enamelled  shore. 
Didst  thou  ne'er  pause,  and  in  some  lovelier  vale 
Moor  thy  light  prow,  and  furl  thy  silken  sail  ?" 
*'  But  once  ;"  said  Arden,  "  years  on  years  had  fled, 
And  half  it  soothed  to  think  my  Mary  dead. 


104  THE  NEW  TI3ION, 

For  I  had  sworn,  (could  faith,  could  honour  less?) 
My  hearth,  at  least,  to  priestly  loneliness ; 
To  wed  no  other  while  she  lived,  and  be, 
If  found  at  last,  for  late  atonement  free. 
I  kept  the  vow,  till  this  ambiguous  doom, 
Half  wed,  half  widowed,  took  a  funeral  gloom  ; 
So  many  years  had  passed,  no  tidings  gained, 
The  chance  so  slight  that  yet  the  earth  retained, 
At  length,  though  doubtful,  I  believed  that  time 
Had  from  the  altar  ta'en  the  ban  of  crime. 
Impulse,  occasion — what  you  will,  at  last 
Seized  one  warm  moment  to  abjure  the  past. 

"  Far  other,  she,  who  charmed  me  thus  awhile, 

Thought  in  each  glance,  and  mind  in  every  smile  ; 

Hers  power  and  genius,  and  the  Iris  dyes 

Of  fancy  glistening  through  swift  shifting  skies  ; 

Wild  in  caprice,  impassioned,  and  yet  coy, 

Woman  when  mournful,  a  frank  child  in  joy ; 

The  Phidian  dream  in  one  concentring  all 

The  thousand  spells  with  which  the  charmers  thrall. 

And  pleasing  most  the  eye  which  years  begin  to  pall 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  105 

I  do  not  say  I  loved  her  as,  in  truth, 

We  only  love  when  life  is  in  its  youth ; 

But  here  at  least  1  thought  to  fix  my  doom, 

And  from  the  weary  waste  reclaim  a  home ! 

Enough,  I  loved,  to  woo,  to  win,  to  bind 

To  her  my  fate,  if  Heaven  had  so  assigned ! 

The  nuptial  day  was  fix'd,  the  plighting  kiss 

Glowed  on  my  lips ; — that  moment  the  abyss. 

Which  hid  by  moss-grown  time  yet  yawned  as  wide 

Beneath  my  feet,  divorced  me  from  her  side. 

A  letter  came — Clanalbin's  hand  ;  what  made 

Treason  so  bold  to  brave  the  man  betray'd  1 

I  break  the  seal — O  Heaven  ;  my  Mary  yet 

Lived ;  in  want's  weeds — the  wretch  his  victim  met. 

Track'd  to  her  home,  (a  beggar's  squalid  cell !) 

Told  all  the  penitence  that  lips  could  tell. 

*  Come  back  and  plead  thyself,  and  all  may  yet  be  well !' 

Had  I  a  choice  ?  could  I  delay  to  choose  1 — 

Here  conscience  dragg'd  me,  there  it  might  excuse  ! 

*'  Few  hurried  lines,  obscurely  dark  with  all 
The  war  within,  my  later  vows  recall, 


106  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Breathe  passionate  prayer, — for  hopeless  pardon  sue, 
And  shape  soft  words  to  soothe  the  stern  adieu. 
So,  as  some  soul  the  beckoning  ghost  obeys. 
The  haunting  shadow  of  the  vanish'd  days 
Lures  to  the  Grave  of  Youth  my  charmed  tread, 
And  sighs,  '  At  length  thou  shalt  appease  the  Dead  !' 

"  Scarce  had  I  reached  the  shores  of  England,  ere 
New  pomps  spring  round  me, — I  am  Arden's  heir ! 
The  last  pretender  to  the  princely  line. 
Whose  scutcheon'd  lions  waved  at  Palestine, 
Borne  to  our  dark  Walhalla,— left  me  poor 
In  all  which  sheds  a  blessing  on  the  boor. — 
Yes,  thou  art  right !  how,  at  each  sickening  grasp, 
For  the  heart's  food,  had  gold  befool'd  my  clasp ! 
Gorg'd  with  a  satrap's  treasure,  the  soul's  dearth 
Envied  the  pauper  crawling  to  his  hearth." 

"  But  Mary — she — thy  wife  before  heaven's  eye  ?" 
"  Lost  as  before  !"  was  Arden's  anguish-cry  ; 
*'  Not  beggary,  famine— not  her  child  (for  whom, 
What  could  she  hope  from  earth  ? — as  stern  a  doom  !) 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  107 

Could  bow  the  steel  of  that  proud  chastity, 

Which  scorn'd  as  alms  the  atonement  due  from  me ! 

What  had  been  pride,  a  kind  of  madness  grown. 

She  hugg'd  her  wrongs — her  sorrow  was  her  throne. 

She  fled  and  left  no  sign! — again  the  same 

Vain  track — vain  chase  ! — Not  here  was  I  to  blame  !" 

"  /should  have  found  her,"  muttered  Morvale; — "Thou, 
Thou  track  the  outcast ! — luxui-y  knows  not  how  !" 

"  Henceforth,"  sigh'd  Arden,  "  hope,  aim,  end  confined 

To  one — my  heart  if  tortured  is  resign'd ; 

So  lately  seen,  oh  !  sure,  she  liveth  yet. 

Once  found — Oh  !  strong  thine  eloquence,  Regret ! 

The  palace  and  the  coronal,  the  gauds 

With  which  our  vanity  our  will  defrauds, — 

These  may  not  tempt  her,  but  the  simple  words 

*  I  love  thee  still,'  will  touch  on  surer  chords, 

And  youth  rush  back  with  that  young  melody, 

To  the  lone  moonlight  and  the  trysting  tree !" 

As  the  tale  ceased,  the  fields  behind  them  lay, — 
The  huge  town  once  more  opened  on  the  way ;" 


108  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

The  whir  of  wheels,  the  galliard  cavalcade  ; 

The  crowd  of  pleasure,  and  the  roar  of  trade ; 

The  solemn  abbey  soaring  through  the  dun 

And  reeking  air,  in  which  sunk  slow  the  sun  ; 

The  dusky  trees,  the  sultry  flakes  of  green  ; 

The  haunts  where  Fashion  yawns  away  the  spleen ; — 

Vista  on  vista  widens  to  reveal 

Ease  on  the  wing,  and  Labour  at  the  wheel  ! 

The  friends  grew  silent  in  that  common  roar, 

The  Real  round  them,  the  Ideal  o'er ; 

So  the  peculiar  life  of  each,  the  unseen 

Core  of  our  being — what  we  are,  have  been — 

The  spirit  of  our  memory  and  our  soul 

Sink  from  our  sight,  when  merg'd  amidst  the  whole ; 

Yet  atom,  atom  never  can  absorb, 

Each  drop  moves  rounded  in  its  separate  orb. 


END    OF   PAKT    SECOND. 


THE  NEW  TIMON. 


PART  THE  THIRD. 


I. 


Lord  Arden's  tale  robb'd  Morvale's  couch  of  sleep, 
The  star  still  trembled  on  the  troubled  deep, 
O'er  the  waste  ocean  gleam'd  its  chilling  glance, 
To  make  more  dark  the  desolate  expanse. 

This  contrast  of  a  fate,  but  vexM  by  gales, 
Faint  with  too  full  a  balm  from  Rhodian  Vales  ;* 
This  light  of  life  all  squander'd  upon  one 
Round  whom  hearts  moved,  as  planets  round  a  sun, 

*  The  perfumes  from  the  island  of  Rhodes, — to  which 
the  roses  that  still  bloom  there  gave  the  ancient  name, — are 
wafled  for  miles  over  the  surrounding  seas. 
10 


110  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Mocks  the  lone  doom  his  barren  years  endure, 

As  wasted  treasure  but  insults  the  poor. 

Back  on  his  soul  no  faithful  echoes  cast 

Those  tones  which  make  the  Music  of  the  Past. 

No  memories  hallow,  and  no  dreams  restore 

Love's  lute,  far-heard  from  Youth's  Hesperian  shore  ;— 

The  flowers  that  Arden  trampled  on  the  sod. 

Still  left  the  odour  where  the  step  had  trod  ; 

Those  flowers,  so  wasted ; — had  for  him  but  smil'd 

One  bud, — its  breath  had  perfumed  all  the  wild  ! — 

He  own'd  the  moral  of  the  reveller's  life, — 

So  Christian  warriors  own  the  sin  of  strife, — 

But  oh  !  how  few  can  lift  the  soul  above 

Earth's  twin-born  rulers, — Fame  and  Woman's  Love  ! 

Just  in  that  time,  of  all  most  drear,  upon 

Fate's  barren  hill-tops,  gleamed  the  coming  sun  ; 

From  Nature's  face  the  veil  of  night  withdrawn, 

Earth  smiled,  and  Heaven  was  opened,  in  the  dawn ! 

How  chanced  this  change! — how  chances  all  below? 
What  sways  the  life  the  moment  doth  bestow  : 


THE  NEW  TIJION.  1  1  1 

An  impulse — instinct — look — touch — word — or  sigh — 

Unlocks  the  Hades,  or  reveals  the  sky. 

'Twas  eve ;  Calantha  had  resumed  again 

The  wonted  life,  recaptured  to  its  chain  ; 

In  the  calm  chamber,  Morvale  sate,  and  eyed 

Lucy's  lithe  shape,  that  seemed  on  air  to  glide ; 

Eyed  with  complacent,  not  impassioned,  gaze  ; 

So  Age  looks  on,  where  some  fair  Childhood  plays : 

Far  as  soars  Childhood  from  dim  Age's  scope. 

Beauty  to  him  who  links  it  not  with  Hope ! 

"  Sing  me,  sweet  Lucy,"  said  Calantha,  "  sing 
Our  favourite  song — '  The  Maiden  a?id  the  King.'' 
Thou  lov'st  not  music,  Morvale,  or,  at  least. 
Nought  save  some  war-song  that  recalls  the  East. 
Who  loves  not  music,  still  may  pause  to  hark 
Nature's  free  gladness  hymning  in  the  lark. 
As  sings  the  bird  sings  Lucy !  all  her  art 
A  voice  in  which  you  listen  to  a  heart." 

A  blush  of  fear — a  coy,  reluctant  nay. 
Avail  her  not — thus  ran  the  simple  lay  : — 


112  THE  NEW  TIMON. 


THE  MAIDEN  AND  THE  KING. 

I. 

'^  And  far  as  sweep  the  seas  below, 
My  sails  are  on  the  deep ; 
And  far  as  yonder  eagles  go. 
My  flag  on  every  keep. 

*'  Why  o'er  the  rebel  world  within 
Extendeth  not  the  chart  ? 
No  sail  can  reach — ^no  arms  can  win 
The  kingdom  of  a  heart !" 

So  sigh'd  the  King — the  linden  near; 

A  listener  heard  the  sigh, 
And  thus  the  heart  he  did  not  hear, 

Breathed  back  the  soft  reply. 

II. 

^'  And  far  as  sweep  the  seas  below, 
His  sails  are  on  the  deep  ; 
And  far  as  yonder  eagles  go, 
His  flag  on  every  keep  ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  113 

"  Love,  thou  art  not  a  king  alone, 
Both  slave  and  king  thou  art ! 
Who  seeks  to  sway  must  stoop  to  own 
The  kingdom  of  a  heart !" 

So  sigh'd  the  Maid,  the  linden  near, 

Beneath  the  lonely  sky ; 
Oh,  lonely  not  /—for  angels  hear 

The  humblest  human  sigh ! 

III. 

His  ships  are  vanished  from  the  main. 

His  banners  from  the  keep ; 
The  carnage  triumphs  on  the  plain  ; 

The  tempest  on  the  deep. 

"  The  purple  and  the  crown  are  mine," 
An  Outlaw  sigh'd — "  no  more  ; 
But  still  as  greenly  grows  the  vine 
Around  the  cottage  door  ! 

^^  A  shelter  from  the  hunter,  Maid, 
And  water  from  the  spring  !" 
Before  the  humble  cottage  pray'd 
The  Man  that  was  a  King. 
10* 


114  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Oh,  was  the  threshold  that  he  crost 

The  gate  to  fairy  ground  ? 
He  would  not  for  the  kingdom  lost, 

Have  changed  the  kingdom  found  ! 

Divine  interpreter  thou  art,  O  Song  ! 

To  thee  all  secrets  of  all  hearts  belong  ! 

How  had  the  lay,  as  in  a  mirror,  glass'd, 

The  sullen  present  and  the  joyless  past, 

Lock'd  in  the  cloister  of  that  lonely  soul ! — 

Ere  the  song  ceased,  to  Lucy's  side  he  stole. 

Stole,  as  in  sleep  unconsciously  we  glide, 

Hush'd  was  the  voice,  and  still  he  dream'd  by  Lucy's  side ! 

Dream'd  till  too  sweet  the  vision  :  Mournfully 

He  raised  his  looks,  he  met  the  virgin's  eye. 

It  fix'd  his  own,  nor  droop'd ; — so  gaze  met  gaze. 

And  heart  saw  heart,  translucid  through  the  rays. 

In  that  electric  link  we  do  but  prove 

The  power  by  which  the  wheels  of  glory  move ; 

One  same,  harmonious,  universal  law. 

Atom  to  atom,  star  to  star,  can  draw, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  115 

And  heart  to  heart! — swift  darts,  as  from  the  sun, 
The  strong  attraction,  and  the  charm  is  done  ! 
Whoe'er  thou  art,  look  back,  when  on  thy  tame 
Expanse  of  life  first  flash'd  Love's  heavenly  flame, 
And  own  the  date  the  holy  kalend  took 
Rose  from  the  worship  kindled  in  a  look. 
A  look  !  and  suddenly  ihey  felt  alone  I 
Calantha's  place  was  void — the  witness  gone ; 
They  had  not  mark'd  her  sad  step  glide  away, 
When  in  sweet  silence  sank,  less  sweet,  the  lay  ; 
For  unto  both  abruptly  came  the  hour 
When  springs  the  rose-fence  round  the  fairy  bower; 
When  earth  shut  out,  all  life  transferred  to  one, 
Each  other  life  seems  cloud  before  the  sun ; 
It  comes,  it  goes,  we  know  if  it  depart 
But  by  the  warmer  light  and  quickened  heart. 

And  what  then  chanced  ?     Oh,  leave  not  told  but  guest ; 
Is  Love  a  God  1 — a  Temple,  then,  the  breast ! 
Not  to  the  crowd  in  cold  detail  allow 
Its  delicate  worship,  its  mysterious  vow  ! 


116  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Around  the  first  sweet  homage  in  the  shrine 
liCt  the  veil  fall,  and  but  the  Pure  divine ! 
Coy  as  the  violet  shrinking  from  the  sun, 
The  blush  of  Virgin  Youth  first  woo'd  and  won  ; 
And  scarce  less  holy  from  the  vulgar  ear 
The  tone  that  trembles  but  with  noble  fear  : 
Near  to  God's  throne  the  solemn  stars  that  move 
The  proud  to  meekness,  and  the  pure  to  love ! 

Let  days  pass  on ;  nor  count  how  many  swell 

The  episode  of  Life's  hack  chronicle  ! 

Changed  the  abode,  of  late  so  stern  and  drear. 

How  doth  the  change  speak? — <'Love  hath  entered  here! 

How  lightly  sounds  the  footfall  on  the  floor! 

How  jocund  rings  sweet  laughter,  hush'd  no  more  ! 

Wide  from  two  hearts  made  happy,  wide  and  far. 

Circles  the  light  in  which  they  breathe  and  are ! 

Liberal  as  noontide  streams  the  ambient  ray. 

And  fills  each  crevice  in  the  world  with  day  ! 

And  changed  is  Lucy !  where  the  downcast  eye, 
And  the  meek  fear,  when  that  dark  man  was  by  ? 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  117 

Lo !  as  young  Una  thrall'd  the  forest-king, 
She  leads  the  savage  in  her  silken  string ; 
Plays  with  the  strength  to  her  in  service  shown, 
And  mounts  with  infant  whim  the  woman's  throne ! 

Charm'd  from  his  lonely  moods  and  brooding  mind, 

And  bound  by  one  to  union  with  his  kind. 

No  more  the  wild  man  thirsted  for  the  waste ; 

Mo  more,  'mid  joy,  a  joyless  one,  misplaced  ; 

His  very  form  assumed  unwonted  grace, 

And  bliss  gave  more  than  beauty  to  his  face  : 

Let  but  delighted  thought  from  all  things  cull 

Sweet  food  and  fair — hiving  the  Beautiful, 

And  lo !  the  form  shall  brighten  with  the  soul ! 

The  gods  bloom  only  by  joy's  nectar  bowl  ; 

Bright  as  Apollo,  when  his  toils  were  done. 

Shone  in  heaven's  court  Alcmccna's  rugged  son,    ' 

But  not  till  Hebe,  the  ambrosial  bride. 

Poured  to  the  parched  lips  the  immortal  golden  tide ! 

Nor  deem  it  strange  that  Lucy  failed  to  trace  ^ 

In  that  dark  grandeur,  but  the  birth's  disgrace. 

And  Europe's  ban  on  Earth's  primeval  race. 


\ 


118  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Were  she  less  pure,  less  harmless,  less  the  child, 
Not  on  the  savage  had  the  soft  one  smil'd. 
Ev'n  as  the  young  Venetian  loved  the  Moor, 
Pity  refines  to  reverence  in  the  Pure ; 
Touch'd  with  a  finer  sense,  its  eye  surveys 
The  mine,  where  wastes  appal  the  common  gaze  ; 
Love  in  such  hearts,  like  some  sweet  poet,  where 
Round  it  the  Homely  dwells,  invents  the  Fair  ; 
To  rudest  forms,  its  own  bright  splendour  given, 
It  shapes  the  seraph  and  creates  the  heaven. 

And  both  were  children  in  this  world  of  ours, 
Maiden  and  savage  !  the  same  mountain  flowers. 
Not  trimmed  in  gardens,  not  exchanged  their  hues. 
Fresh  from  the  natural  sun  and  hardy  dews. 
For  the  faint  fragrance  and  the  sickly  dyes 
Which  Art  calls  forth  by  walling  out  the  skies : 
So  children  both,  each  seemed  to  have  forgot 
How  poor  the  maid's — how  rich  the  lover's  lot ; 
Ne'er  did  the  ignorant  Indian  pause  in  fear. 
Lest  friends  should  pity,  and  lest  foes  should  sneer. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  119 

"  What  will  the  world  say  ?" — question  safe  and  sage  ; 
The  parrot's  world  should  be  his  gilded  cage  ; 
But  fly,  frank  wilding,  with  free  wings  unfurl'd, 
Where  thy  mate  carols — there,  behold  thy  world ! 
And  stranger  still  that  no  decorous  pride 
Warned  her,  the  beggar,  from  the  rich  man's  side. 
Sneer,  ye  world-wise,  and  deem  her  ignorance  art ; 
She  saw  her  wealth  (and  blush'd  not)  in  her  heart ! — 
Saw  through  the  glare  of  gold  his  lonely  breast ; 
He  had  but  gold,  and  hers  was  all  the  rest. 

Pleased  in  the  bliss  to  her,  alas  !  denied, 

Calantha  hail'd  her  brother's  plighted  bride  : 

"  Glad  thou  the  heart  which  I  made  sad,"  she  sighed. 

Since  Arden's  tale,  but  once  the  friends  had  met, 
Nor  known  to  one  the  other's  rapture  yet  ; 
Some  fancied  clue,  some  hope  awhile  restored. 
Had  from  the  Babel  lured  the  brilliant  lord. 
The  wonted  commune  Morvale  failed  to  miss, — 
We  want  no  confidant  in  happiness. 


120  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Baffled,  and  sick  of  hope,  wealth,  life  and  all, 

One  night  returned  the  noble  to  his  hall; 

He  found  some  lines,  stern,  brief,  in  Morvale's  hand, — 

Brief  with  dark  meaning, — stern  with  rude  command, — 

Bidding  his  instant  presence.     Arden  weighed 

Each  word  ;  some  threat  was  in  each  word  convey'd  ; 

A  chill  shot  through  his  heart — foreboding  he  obey'd. 

II. 

What  caused  the  mandate? — wherefore  do  I  shrink? 
The  stream  runs  on, — why  tarry  on  the  brink  ? 
On  to  my  task  ;  yet  in  the  pause  between 
Sorrow  and  joy,  behold  the  quiet  scene  ; — 
The  chamber  stately  in  that  calm  repose, 
Which  Art,  the  god  whose  life  is  calm,  bestows ; 
There,  gleam  the  shapes  in  which,  immortal,  still, 
Live  the  bright  exiles  from  the  Olympian  Hill ; 
Still  mooned  Dian  from  the  breathing  stone 
Haunts,  with  pure  eyes,  thy  dreams,  Endymion  ; 
Still  on  the  vast  brow  of  the  Father-god, 
Hangs  the  hush'd  thunder  of  the  awful  nod ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  121 

Still  fair,  as  when  on  Ida's  mountain  seen, 

By  Troy's  young  shepherd,  Beauty's  bashful  Queen ; 

Still  Ind's  divine  lacchus  laughing  weaves 

His  crown  of  clustering  grapes  and  glossy  leaves  ; 

Still  thou.  Arch-type  of  Song,*  whose  task  to  soothe 

The  rest  of  Heroes,  and  with  deathless  youth 

Crown  the  Celestial  Brotherhood — dost  hold, 

Brimm'd  with  the  drink  of  gods,  the  urn  of  gold  ! 

All  live  again  !  for  this  most  pure,  most  high 
Of  Art's  link'd  choir,  this  chastener  of  the  eye, 
This  heightener  of  the  soul,  that  symbols  all 
The  thoughts  that  fire  us,  and  the  toils  that  thrall, 
Hewing  from  mine  and  rock  its  airy  throne, 
And  quickening  shapes  for  gods  to  wear,  from  stone, 
Charm'd  Morvale's  mind, — which  simple  and  austere, 
Ev'n  in  relaxing,  yearned  but  to  revere. 

'Twas  noon,  and  broken  by  the  gentle  gloom 
Of  coolest  draperies,  through  the  shadowy  room, 

*  Hebe. 
11 


122  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

In  moted  shaft  aslant,  the  golden  ray 
Forced  lingering  in,  through  tiers  of  flowers,  its  way. 
Glanced  on  the  lute,  (just  hush'd,  to  leave  behind 
Elysian  dreams,  the  music  of  the  mind,) 
Play'd  round  the  songstress,  and  with  warmer  flush 
Steep'd  the  young  cheek,  unconscious  of  its  blush. 
And  fell,  as  if  in  worship,  at  thy  base, 
O  sculptured  Psyche*  of  the  soul-lit  face, 
Bending  to  earth  resign'd  the  mournful  eye. 
Since  earth  must  prove  the  pathway  to  the  sky ; 
Doomed  here,  below.  Love's  foot-print  to  explore. 
Till  Jove  relents,  the  destined  wandering  o'er. 
And  in  immortal  groves,  Soul  meets  with  Love  once 
more.")" 


^  The  Psyche  of  Naples,  the  most  intellectual  and  (so  to 
speak)  the  most  Christian  of  all  the  dreams  of  beauty  which 
Grecian  art  has  embodied  in  the  marble. 

t  Every  one  knows,  through  the  version  of  Mr.  Tighe, 
the  lovely  allegory  of  Eros  and  Psyche,  which  Apuleius — 
the  neglected  original,  to  whom  all  later  romance  writers  are 
unconsciously  indebted — has  bequeathed  to  the  delight  of 
poets  and  the  recognition  of  Christians. 


THE  NEW  TIMON."  123 

And,  side  by  side,  the  lovers  sate, — their  words 

Low  mix'd  with  notes  from  Lucy's  joyous  birds, 

Sole  witnesses  and  fit — those  airy  things. 

That,  midst  the  bars,  can  still  unfold  the  wings. 

And  soothe  the  cell  with  language  learn'd  above ; 

As  the  caged  bird — so  on  the  earth  is  love  I 

Their  talk  was  of  the  future ;  from  the  height 

Of  Hope,  they  saw  the  landscape  bath'd  in  light. 

And,  where  the  golden  dimness  veil'd  the  gaze, 

Guess'd  out  the  spot,  and  marked  the  sites  of  happy  days. 

Till  silence  came,  and  the  full  sense  and  power 

Of  the  blest  Present, — the  rich-laden  Hour 

That  overshadowed  them,  as  some  hushed  tree 

With  mellow  fruitage  bending  heavily, — 

What  time,  beneath  the  tender  gloom  reclined. 

Dies  on  the  lap  of  summer  noon  the  wind  ! 

Rous'd  from  the  lulling  spell  with  startled  blush 
At  such  strange  power  in  silence,  to  the  hush 
The  maid  restored  the  music,  while  she  sought 
Fresh  banks  for  that  sweet  river — loving  thought. 


124  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  "  if  not  too  near  the  gloom 
Of  some  sad  tale,  the  rash  desire  presume ; 
What  severs  so  the  chords  that  should  entwine 
With  one  warm  bond  our  sister's  heart  and  thine  ? 
Why  does  she  love  yet  dread  thee?  what  the  grief 
That  shrinks  from  utterance  and  disdains  relief? 
Hast  thou  not  been  too  stern  ? — nay,  pardon  !  nay, 
Let  thy  words  chide  me, — not  thy  looks  dismay  !" 

"Not  unto  thee,  beneath  whose  starry  eye 
Each  wild  wave  hushes,  did  my  looks  reply  ; 
They  were  the  answer  to  mine  own  dark  thought, 
Which  back  the  gloom,  thy  smile  had  banish'd,  brought. 

"  Well ; — to  the  secrets  of  my  soul  thy  love 

Hath  such  sweet  right,  I  lift  the  veil  above 

Home's  shattered  gods,  and  show  what  wounds  belong 

To  writhing  honour,  and  revengeless  wrong. — 

"  Reared  in  the  desert,  round  its  rugged  child. 
All  we  call  life,  grouped,  menacing  and  wild  ; 
But  to  man's  soul  there  is  an  inner  life; — 
There^  one  soft  vision  smiled  away  the  strife  ! 


THE   NEW  TIMON.  125 

A  fairy  shape,  an  infant's  face  of  glee, 
An  angel  from  that  heaven,  young  Memory, 
A  voice  that  called  me  brother ; — years  had  fled 
Since  my  rough  breast  had  pillowed  that  sweet  head, 
Yet  still  my  heart  throbb'd  with  the  pressure;  still 
Tears  such  as  mothers  know,  my  eyes  would  fill ; 
Prayers,  such  as  fathers  pray,  my  soul  would  breathe  : — 
The  oak  were  sere  but  for  that  jasmine-wreath  ! 
At  length,  wealth  came ;  my  footsteps  left  the  wild, — 
Again  we  met ; — to  woman  grown  the  child  ! 
How  did  we  meet  1 — that  heart  to  me  was  dead  ! 
The  bird,  far  heard  amidst  the  waste,  was  fled  ! 
With  earthlier  fires  that  breast  had  learned  to  burn ; 
And  what  yet  left'!  but  ashes  in  the  urn : 
Wooed  and  abandoned !  all  of  love,  hope,  soul 
Lavished— now  lifeless  ! — well,  were  this  the  whole  ! 
But  the  good  name — the  virgin's  pure  renown — 
Woman's  white  robe,  and  Honour's  starry  crown. 
Lost,  lost,  for  ever  !" 

O'er  his  visage  past 
His  trembling  hand, — then,  hurriedly  and  fast, 
11* 


126  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

As  one  who  from  the  knife  of  torture  swerves, 

Then  spurns  the  pang,  as  pride  the  weakness  nerves, 

Resumed — "  As  yet  tJiat  secret  was  withheld, 

All  that  I  saw,  was  sorrow  that  repelled, — 

A  dreary  apathy — a  deathlike  chill, 

That  froze  the  yearning  back  and  left  us  severed  still. 

"  One  night  I  fled  that  hard  indifferent  eye ; 

To  crowds,  the  heart  that  Home  rejects,  will  fly  !  — 

Gay  glides  the  dance,  soft  music  fills  the  hall, 

I  fled,  to  find  the  loneliness  through  all ! 

Thou  knovv'st  but  half  a  brother's  bond  I  claim, — 

My  mother's  daughter  bears  her  father's  name ; 

My  mother's  heart  had  long  denied  her  son, 

And  loathed  the  tie  that  pride  had  taught  to  shun, 

My  sister's  lips,  forbid  the  bond  to  own, 

Left  the  scorn'd  life,  a  brother  breathed,  unknown  !* 

*  The  reader  will  bear  in  mind  these  lines,  important  to 
the  clearness  of  the  story;  and  remember  that  Calantha 
bore  a  different  name  from  her  half  brother — that  her 
mother's  unnatural  prejudice  or  pride  of  race,  had  forbidden 
her  ever  to  mention  that  brother's  name ;  and  that,  there- 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  127 

Not  even  yet  the  alien  blood  confest ; — 
Who,  in  the  swart  hues  of  the  Eastern  guest 
And  unfamiliar  name,  could  kindred  trace 
With  the  young  Beauty  of  the  Northern  Race? — 
Calm  in  the  crowd  I  stood,  when  hark,  a  word 
Smote  on  my  ear,  and  stunn'd  the  soul  that  heard ! 
A  sound,  with  withering  laughter  muttered  o'er, 
Blistering  the  name — O  God  ! — a  sister  bore  ; 
Nought  clear,  and  nought  defined,  save  scorn  alone, — 
Not  heard  the  name  scorn  coupled  with  her  own ; 
Somewhat  of  nuptials  fix'd,  of  broken  ties, 
The  foul  cause  hinted  in  the  vile  surmise. 
The  gallant's  fame  for  conquests,  lightly  won. 
For  homes  dishonoured,  and  for  hearts  undone ! 
Not  one  alone  on  whom  my  wrath  could  seize, 
From  lip  to  lip  the  dizzying  slander  flees ; 
No,  not  one  ribald  separate  from  the  herd ! 
Through  the  blent  hum  one  stinging  tumult  stirr'd  ; 

fore,  her  relationship,  until  he  sought  her  out,  was  wholly 
unknown  to  all :  the  reader  will  remember,  also,  that  during 
Calantha's  subsequent  residence  in  Morvale's  house,  she 
lived  as  woman  lives  in  the  East,  and  was  consequently 
never  seen  by  her  brother's  guests. 


128  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

One  felt,  unseen,  infection  circling  there, 

A  bodiless  venom  in  the  common  air, 

And  as  the  air  impalpable ! — so  seem 

The  undistinguished  terrors  of  a  dream. 

Now  clear,  now  dim,  transformed  from  shape  to  shape, 

The  gibbering  spectres  scare  us  and  escape ! 

"  Fearful  the  commune,  in  that  dismal  night, 

Between  the  souls  which  could  no  more  unite, — 

The  lawful  anger  and  the  shaming  fears, — 

Man's  iron  question,  woman's  burning  tears  ; 

All  that,  once  pass'd,  divide  for  aye  the  lies 

Of  the  close  bond  God  fashioned  in  the  skies. 

I  learned  at  last, — for  midst  my  wrath,  deep  trust 

In  what  I  loved,  left  even  passion  just ; 

And  I  believed  the  word,  the  lip,  the  eye, 

That  to  my  horrid  question  flash'd  reply  ; 

1  learned  at  last  that  but  the  name  was  stain'jd, 

Honour  was  wreck'd,  but  Purity  remained. 

O  pardon,  pardon  ! — if  a  doubt  that  sears, 

A  word  that  stains  profane  such  holy  ears ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  129 

So,  oft  amidst  my  loneliness,  my  heart 
Hath  communed  with  itself,  and  groaned  apart, — 
Recalled  that  night,  and  in  its  fierce  despair, 
Shaped  some  fijll  vengeance  from  the  desert  air, — 
That  I  forgot  what  angel,  new  from  heaven. 
Sweet  spotless  listener,  to  my  side  was  given  ! 

"  But  who  the  recreant  lover  ? — this,  in  vain 
My  question  sought ;  that  truth  not  hard  to  gain ; 
And  my  brow  darkened  as  T  breathed  the  threat 
Fierce  in  her  shrinking  ear,  '  that  wrath  should  reach 

him  yet  1' 
I  left  her  speechless ;  when  the  morning  came. 
With  the  fierce  pang,  writhed  the  self-tortured  frame. 
The  poison  hid  by  Wo,  drained  by  despairing  Shame. 

"Few  words,  half  blurr'd  by  shame,  the  motive  cleared, 

For  the  false  wooer,  not  herself,  she  feared  ; 

'  Accept,'  she  wrote,  '  O  brother  sternly  just. 

The  life  I  yield, — but  holy  be  my  dust ! 

Hear  my  last  words,  for,  them  Death  sanctify ! 

Forbear  his  life  for  whom  it  soothes  to  die ; 


130  THE  NEW  TIMOJV. 

And  let  my  thought,  the  memory  of  old  time, 
The  soul  that  flees  the  stain,  nor  knew  the  crime, 
Strike  down  thine  arm !  and  see  me  in  the  tomb, 
Stand,  like  a  ghost,  between  Revenge  and  Doom  !' 

"  T  bent,  in  agony  and  awe,  above 
The  broken  idol  of  my  boyhood's  love  ! 
Echoed  each  groan  and  writhed  witli  every  throe. 
And  cried,  '  Live  yet !  O  dove,  but  brood  below, 
Hide  with  thy  wings  the  vengeance  and  the  guilt, 
And  mould,  disarm,  unman  me  as  thou  wilt !' 
And,  as  T  spoke,  the  heavy  eye  unclosed, 
The  hand  press'd  mine,  and  in  the  clasp  reposed, 
The  wan  lip  smiled,  the  weak  frame  seem'd  to  win 
Strange  power  against  the  torture-fire  within ; 
The  leech's  skill  the  heart's  strong  impulse  sped. 
She  lived — she  lived — and  my  revenge  was  dead  ! 

"  She  lived  ! — and,  clasp'd  within  my  arms,  I  vowed 

To  leave  the  secret  in  its  thunder  shroud, 

To  shun  all  question,  to  refuse  all  clue. 

And  close  each  hope  that  honour  deems  its  due  ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  131 

But,  ivhile  she  lived! — the  weak  vow  halted  there, 
Her  life  the  shield  to  that  it  tainted  mine  to  spare ! 

*'  But  to  have  walked  into  the  thronging  street, 

But  to  have  sought  the  haunt  where  babblers  meet. 

But  to  have  plucked  one  idler  by  the  sleeve, 

And  asked,  '  wlto  woo'd  yon  fairhaired  bride,  to  leave  V 

And  street  and  haunt,  and  every  idler's  tongue. 

Had  given  the  name  with  which  the  slander  rung — 

To  me  alone, — to  me  of  all  the  throng. 

The  unnatural  silence  masked  the  face  of  wrong! 

But  I  had  sworn !  and,  of  myself  in  dread, 

From  the  loathed  scene,  from  mine  own  wrath,  I  fled. 

"  We  left  the  land,  in  this  a  home  we  find. 

Home  !  by  our  hearth  the  cleaving  curse  is  shrined  ! 

Distrust  in  her — and  shame  in  me  ;  and  all 

The  unspoken  past  cold  present  hours  recall ; 

And  unconfiding  hearts,  and  smiles  but  rife 

In  the  bland  hollowness  of  formal  life  ! 

In  vain  my  sacrifice,  she  fears  me  still ! 

Vain  her  reprieve — grief  barr'd  from  vent  will  kill. 


132  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

And  then,  and  then,  (O  joy  through  agony  !) 

My  oath  absolves  me,  and  my  arm  is  free ! 

The  lofty  soul  may  oft  forgive,  I  own. 

The  lighter  wrong  that  smites  itself  alone  ; 

But  vile  the  nature,  that  when  wrong  hath  marr'd 

All  the  rich  life  it  was  our  boast  to  guard 

But  weeps  the  broken  heart  and  blasted  name ; — 

Here  the  mean  pardon  were  the  manhood's  shame ; 

And  I  were  vilest  of  the  vile,  to  live 

To  see  Calantha's  grave — and  to  forgive : 

Forgive  /" 

There  hung  such  hate  upon  that  word. 
The  weeping  listener  shuddered  as  she  heard. 
And  sobb'd — 

"  Hush,  hush  !  lest  Man's  eternal  Foe 
Hear  thee,  and  tempt !  Oh,  never  may'st  thou  know 
Beside  one  deed  of  Guilt — how  blest  is  guiltless  Wo  !' 
Then,  close,  and  closer,  clinging  to  his  side, 
Frank  as  the  child,  and  tender  as  the  bride, 
Words — looks — and  tears  themselves  combine  the  balm. 
Lull  the  fierce  pang,  and  steal  the  soul  to  calm ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  133 

As  holy  herbs  the  rock  with  verdure  wreathe, 

And  fill  with  sweets  the  summer  air  they  breathe, 

In  winter  wither,  only  to  reveal 

Diviner  virtues — charged  with  powers  to  heal, 

So  are  the  thoughts  of  Love ! — if  Heaven  is  fair, 

Blooms  for  the  earth,  and  perfumes  for  the  air ; — 

Is  the  Heaven  dark  ? — doth  sorrow  sear  the  leaf? 

They  fade  from  joy  to  anodynes  for  grief  1 

From  theme  to  theme  she  lures  his  thought  afar, 

From  the  dark  haunt  in  which  its  demons  are ; 

And  with  the  gentle  instinct  which  divines 

Interest  more  strong  than  aught  which  Self  entwines 

With  its  own  suffering — changed  the  course  of  tears, 

And  led  him,  childlike,  through  her  own  young  years. 

The  silent  sorrows  of  a  patient  mind — 

Grief's  loveliest  poem,  a  soft  soul  resign'd, 

Charm'd  and  arousM 

"  O  tell  me  more  !"  he  cried  : 
*'  Ev'n  from  the  infant  let  me  trace  the  bride. 
Of  thy  dear  life  I  am  a  miser  grown. 
And  grudge  each  smile  that  did  not  gild  my  own  ; 

12 


134  THE  NEW  TI3ION. 

Look  back — thy  Father  ?     Canst  thou  not  recall 
His  kiss,  his  voice?     Fair  orphan  !  tell  me  all." 

"  My  Father  ?     No  !"  sigh'd  Lucy  ;  "  at  that  name 

Still  o'er  my  mother's  cheek  the  fever  came ; 

Thus  from  the  record  of  each  earlier  year, 

That  household  tie  moved  less  of  love  than  fear ; 

Some  wild  mysterious  awe,  some  undefined 

Instinct  of  wo,  was  with  the  name  entwined. 

Lived  he  ? — I  knew  not ;  knew  not  till  the  last 

Sad  hours,  when  Memory  struggled  to  the  Past, 

And  she — my  dying  mother — to  my  bi'east 

Clasp'd  these  twain  relics — let  them  speak  the  rest !" 

With  that,  for  words  no  more  she  could  command, 

She  placed  a  scroll — a  portrait — in  his  hand  ; 

And  overcome  by  memories  that  could  brook 

Not  ev'n  love's  comfort, — veil'd  her  troubled  look, 

And  glided  swiftly  thence.     Nor  he  detain'd : 

Spellbound,  his  gaze  upon  the  portrait  strain'd  : 

That  brow — those  features !  that  bright  lip,  which  smil'd 

Forth  from  the  likeness  ! — Found  Lord  Arden's  child ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  135 

The  picture  spoke  as  if  from  Mary's  tomb, 
Death  in  the  smile  and  mockery  in  the  bloom. 
The  scroll,  unseal'd — address'd  the  obscurer  name 
That  Arden  bore,  ere  lands  and  lordship  came ; 
And  at  the  close,  to  which  the  Indian's  eyes 
Hurried,  these  words  : — 

"  In  peace  thy  Mary  dies ; 
Forgive  her  sternness  in  her  sacrifice  ! 
It  had  one  merit — that  I  loved  !  and  till 
Each  pulse  is  hush'd  shall  love,  yet  fly,  thee  still. 
Now  take  thy  child !  and  when  she  clings  with  pride 
To  the  strong  shelter  of  a  father's  side. 
Tell  her,  a  mother  bought  the  priceless  right 
To  bless  unblushing  her  she  gave  to  light ; 
Bought  it  as  those  who  would  redeem  a  past 
Must  buy — by  penance,  faithful  to  the  last. 
Thorns  in  each  path,  a  grave  the  only  goal. 
Glides  mine,  atoning,  to  my  father's  soul !" 

What  at  this  swift  revealment — dark  and  fast 
As  fleets  the  cloud- wrack,  o'er  the  Indian  past? 


136  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

No  more  is  Lucy  free  with  her  sweet  dower 

Of  love  and  youth !     Another  has  the  power 

To  bar  the  solemn  rite,  to  blast  the  marriage  bower. 

*'  Will  this  proud  Saxon  of  the  princely  line 

Yield  his  heart's  gem  to  alien  hands  like  mine? 

What  though  the  blot  denies  his  rank  its  heir : 

The  more  his  pride  will  bid  his  love  repair 

By  loftiest  nuptials — Oh  supreme  despair ! 

Shall  I  divulge  the  secret !  shall  1  rear, 

Myself  the  barrier,  and  the  bliss  so  near  ?" 

He  scorn'd  himself,  and  raised  his  drooping  crest : 
"  Mine  be  Man's  honour — leave  to  God  the  rest !" 
As  thus  his  high  resolve,  a  sudden  cry 
Startled  his  heart.     He  turn'd  :  Calantha  by  ! 
Why  on  the  portrait  glares  her  haggard  eye  ? 
"  Whose  likeness  thisi  Thou  knows't  not,  brother?  speak  ! 
What  mean  that  clouded  brow — that  changing  cheek  ? 
Thou  know'st  not !" 

«  Yes !" 

And  as  the  answer  came, 
With  Death's  strong  terror  shook  the  sister's  frame, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  137 

A  bitterer  pang,  an  icier  shudder,  ran 
Through  his  fierce  nature — 

"  Dost  thoit  know  the  man  ? 
Ha  !  his  own  tale  !     O  dull  and  blinded  !  how, 
Flash  upon  flash,  descends  the  lightning  now  ! 
Thou,  his  forsaken — his  !     And  I — who — nay  ! 
Look  up,  Calantha ;  for,  befall  what  may, 

He  shall " 

The  promise,  or  the  threat,  was  said 
To  ears  already  deafen'd  as  the  dead  ! 
His  arm  but  breaks  the  fall :  the  panting  breast 
Yet  heaves  convulsive  through  the  stifling  vest. 
The  robe,  relax'd,  bids  doubt, — if  doubt  yet  be — 
Merge  the  last  gleam  in  starless  certainty  ! 
Lo  there,  the  fatal  gift  of  love  and  wo 
Miming  without  the  image  graved  below — 
The  same  each  likeness  by  each  suflerer  worn. 
Or  diflering  but  as  noonday  from  the  morn. 
In  Lucy's  portrait,  manhood's  earliest  youth 
Shone  from  the  clear  eye  with  a  light  like  truth. 
There,  play'd  that  fearless  smile  with  which  we  meet 
The  sward  that  hides  the  swamp  before  our  feet ; 
12* 


138  THE   NEW  TIMON. 

The  bright  on-looking  to  the  Future,  ere 

Our  sins  reflect  their  own  dark  shadows  there  : — 

Calantha's  portrait  spoke  of  one  in  whom, 

Young  yet  in  years,  the  heart  had  lost  its  bloom ; 

The  lip  of  joy  the  lip  of  pride  had  grown ; 

It  smiled — the  smile  we  loved  to  trust  had  flown. 

In  the  collected  eye  and  lofty  mien 

The  graver  power  experience  brings  was  seen ; 

Beautiful  both ;  and  if  the  manlier  face 

Had  lost  youth's  candid  and  luxuriant  grace, 

A  charm  as  fatal  as  the  first  it  wore 

Pleased  less — and  yet  enchain'd  and  haunted  more. 

And  this  the  man  to  whom  his  heart  had  moved ! 
Whose  hand  he'  had  clasp'd,  whose  child  he  loved ! — he 

loved  ! 
This,  out  of  all  the  universe,  O  Fate ! 
This,  the  dark  orb  round  which  revolved  his  hate ; 
This,  the  swart  star  malign,  whose  baleful  ray 
Ruled  in  his  House  of  Life  ;  and  day  by  day, 
And  hour  by  hour,  upon  the  tortured  past 
One  withering,  ruthless,  demon  influence  cast ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  13  J 

There  writhes  the  victim — there,  unmasking,  now 
The  invoked  Alecto  frowns  from  Arden's  brow. 
O'er  that  fierce  nature,  roused  so  late  from  sleep, 
Course  the  black  thoughts,  and  lash  to  storm  the  deep. 
Love  flies  dismay'd — the  sweet  delusions,  drawn 
By  Hope,  fade  ghost-like  in  the  lurid  dawn ; 
As  when  along  the  parched  Arabian  gloom 
Life  prostrate  falls  before  the  dread  Simoom, 
No  human  mercy  the  strong  whirlwind  faced, 
And  its  wrath  reigned  sole  monarch  of  the  waste ! 


IIL 

The  Hours  steal  on.     Like  spectres,  to  and  fro 
Hurry  hush'd  footsteps  through  the  house  of  wo. 
That  nameless  chill,  which  tells  of  life  that  dies, 
Broods  o'er  the  chamber  where  Calantha  lies. 

The  Hours  steal  on — and  o'er  the  unquiet  might 
Of  the  great  Babel — reigns,  dishallowed  Night ! 
Not,  as  o'er  Nature's  world.  She  comes,  to  keep 
Beneath  the  stars  her  solemn  tryst  with  Sleep, 


140  THE  ?fEW  TIMON. 

When  move  the  twin-born  Genii  side  by  side, 
And  steal  from  earth  its  demons  where  they  glide ; 
Lull'd  the  spent  Toil — seal'd  Sorrow's  heavy  eyes, 
And  dreams  restore  the  dews  of  Paradise ; 
But  Night,  discrown'd  and  severed  from  her  twin, 
No  pause  for  Travail,  no  repose  for  Sin, 
Vex'd  by  one  chafed  rebellion  to  her  sway, 
Flits  o'er  the  lamp-lit  streets — a  phantom-day  ! 

Alone  sate  Morvale  in  the  House  of  Gloom, 
Alone — no  !     Death  was  in  the  darken'd  room  ; 
All  hush'd  save  where,  at  distance  faintly  heard, 
Lucy's  low  sob  the  depth  of  silence  stirr'd ; 
Or  where,  without,  the  swift  wheels  hurrying  by, 
Bear  those  who  live  as  if  life  could  not  die. 
Alone  he  sate !  and  in  his  breast  began 
Earth's  deadliest  strife — the  Angel  with  the  Man  ! 
Not  his  the  light  war  with  its  feeble  rage 
Which  prudent  scruples  with  faint  passions  wage, 
(The  small  heart-conflicts  which  disturb  the  wise, 
Whom  Reason  succours  when  the  anger  tries, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  141 

Such  as  to  this  meek  social  ring  belong, 

In  conscience  weak,  but  in  discretion  strong ;) 

But  that  known  only  to  man's  franker  state, 

In  love  a  demigod — a  fiend  in  hate, 

Him,  not  the  Reason  but  the  Instincts  lead, 

Prompt  in  the  impulse,  ruthless  in  the  deed. 

And  if  the  wrong  might  seem  too  weak  a  cause 
For  the  fell  fate — not  his  were  Europe's  laws. — 
Some  think  dishonour,  if  it  halt  at  crime, 
A  stingless  asp, — what  injury  in  the  slime? 
As  if  but  this  poor  clay — this  crumbling  coil 
Of  dust  for  graves — were  all  the  foul  can  soil ! 
As  if  the  form  were  not  the  type  (nor  more 
Than  the  mere  type)  of  what  chaste  souls  adore ! 
That  Woman-Royalty,  a  spotless  name, 
For  sires  to  boast — for  sons  unborn  to  claim. 
That  heavenly  purity  of  thought — as  free 
From  shame  as  sin,  the  soul's  virginity, 
If  these  be  lost — why  what  remains  ? — the  form  ! 
Has  that  such  worth  ? — Go,  envy  then  the  worm  ! 


142  THE  NEW  TIM  ON. 

And  well  to  him  may  such  belief  belong, 
And  India's  memories  blacken  more  the  wrong ; 
In  Eastern  lands,  by  tritest  tales  convey'd, 
How  Honour  guards  from  sight  itself  the  maid  ; 
Home's  solemn  mystery,  jealous  of  a  breath, 
Screen'd  by  religion,  and  begirt  with  death  : — 
Again  he  cowered  beneath  the  hissing  tongue, 
Again  the  gibe  of  scurril  laughter  rung. 
Again  the  Plague-breath  air  itself  defiled. 
And  Mockery  grinn'd  upon  his  mother's  child  ! 
All  the  heart's  chaste  religion  overthrown. 
And  slander  scrawl'd  upon  the  altar-stone  ! 

And  if  that  memory  pause,  what  shapes  succeed  1 

The  martyr  leaning  on  the  broken  reed  ! 

The  life  slow-poisoned  in  the  thoughts  that  shed 

Shame  o'er  the  joyless  Earth  ; — and  there,  the  dead  ! 

Marvel  not  ye,  the  soft,  the  fair,  the  young. 

Whose  thoughts  are  chords  to  Love's  sweet  music  strung, 

Whose  life  the  sterner  genius — Hate,  has  spared, 

If  on  his  soul  no  torch  but  Ate's  glared ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  143 

If  in  the  foe  was  lost  to  sight  the  bride, 

The  foe's  meek  child  ! — that  'me7nory  was  denied! 

The  face,  the  tale,  the  sorrow,  and  the  love. 

All  fled — all  blotted  from  the  breast ;  above 

The  Deluge  not  one  refuge  for  the  Dove ! 

There  is  no  Lethe  like  one  guilty  dream ! 

It  drowns  all  life  that  nears  the  leaden  stream  ; 

And  if  the  guilt  seem  sacred  to  the  creed, 

Between  the  stars  and  earth,  but  glooms  the  Deed ! 

So  in  his  breast  the  Titan  feud  began  : 

Which  shall  prevail — the  Angel  or  the  Man  ? 

He  comes !  the  lone  light  faintly  breaking  o'er 

The  gloom,  waves  flickering  to  the  open  door, 

And  Arden's  step  is  on  the  fatal  floor  ! 

Around  he  gazed,  and  hush'd  his  breath, — for  Fear 

Cast  its  own  shadow  on  the  wall, — a  drear 

And  ominous  prescience  of  the  Death-King  there 

Breathed  its  chill  horror  to  the  heavy  air ; 

O'er  yon  recess — which  bars  with  draperied  pall 

The  baffled  gaze — the  unbroken  shadows  fall. 


144  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

The  lurid  embers  on  the  hearth  burn  low ; 
The  clicking  time-piece  sounds  distinct  and  slow  ; 
And  the  roused  instinct  hate's  suspense  foreshows 
In  the  pale  Indian's  lock'd  and  grim  repose. 

So  Arden  enter'd,  and  thus  spoke ;  the  while 
His  restless  eye  belied  his  ready  smile : 
"  Return'd,  I  find  thy  mandate,  and  attend 
To  hear  a  mystery,  or  to  serve  a  friend." 
"  Or  front  a  foe  !" 

A  stifled  voice  replied. 
O'er  Arden's  temples  flashed  the  knightly  pride. 
"What  means  that  word,  which  jars,  not  daunts,  the  ear? 
I  own  no  foe, — if  foe  there  be, — no  fear." 

*«  Pause  and  take  heed — then  with  as  firm  a  sound 
Disdain  the  danger — when  the  foe  is  found  ! 
What,  if  thou  hadst  a  sister,  whom  the  grave 
To  thy  sole  charge — a  sacred  orphan — gave, 
What,  if  a  traitor  had,  with  mocking  vows. 
Won  the  warm  heart,  and  woo'd  the  plighted  spouse, 
Then  left — a  scoff; — what  if  his  evil  fame, 
Alone  sufficed  to  blast  the  virgin  name, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  145 

What — hourly  gazing  on  a  life  forlorn, 
Amidst  a  solitude  wallM  round  with  scorn, 
Shame  at  the  core — death  gnawing  at  the  cheek — 
What,  from  the  suitor,  would  the  brother  seek  V 
"  Wert  thou  that  brother,"  with  unsteady  voice, 
Arden  replied  ;  "  not  doubtful  were  thy  choice  : 

Were  I  that  Suitor " 

"Ay?" 

"  I  would  prepare 
To  front  the  vengeance,  or — the  wrong  repair." 

"  Yes" — hissM  the  Indian—"  front  that  mimic  strife 

That  coward's  die,  which  leaves  to  chance  the  life  ; 

That  mockery  of  all  justice,  framed  to  cheat 

Right  of  its  due — that  vengeance  thou  wouldst  meet ! — 

Be  Europe's  justice  blind  and  insecure  ! 

Stern  Ind  asks  more — her  son's  revenge  is  sure  ! 

Repair  the  wrong — Ay,  in  the  Grave  be  wed ! 

Hark  !  the  Ghost  calls  thee  to  the  bridal  bed  ! 

Come  (nay,   this  once  thy  hand  !) — come ! — from   the 

shrine 
I  draw  the  veil ! — Calantha,  he  is  thine ! 
13 


146  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Man,  see  thy  victim  ! — dust ! — Joy — Peace  and  Fame, 
These  murder'd  first — the  blow  that  smote  the  frame 
Was  the  most  merciful ! — at  length  it  came. 
Here,  by  the  corpse  to  which  thy  steps  are  led, 
Beside  thee,  murderer,  stands  the  brother  of  the  Dead  !" 

Brave  was  Lord  Arden — brave  as  ever  be 
Thor's  northern  sons — the  Island  Chivalry  ; 
But  in  that  hour  strange  terror  froze  his  blood, 
Those  fierce  eyes  mark'd  him  shiver  as  he  stood  ; 
But  oh !  more  awful  than  the  living  foe 
That  frovvn'd  beside — the  Dead  that  smiled  below  ! 
That  smile  which  greets  the  shadow-peopled  shore, 
Which  says  to  Sorrow — "  Thou  canst  wound  no  more !" 
Which  says  to  Love  that  would  rejoin — "  Await !" 
That  says  to  Wrong  that  would  redeem — "  Too  late  !" 
That  lingering  halo  of  our  closing  skies 
Cold  with  the  sunset  never  more  to  rise ! 

Though  his  gay  conscience  many  a  heavier  crime 
Than  this  had  borne,  and  drifled  off  to  Time  ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  147 

Though  this  but  sport  with  a  fond  heart  which  Fate 

Had  given  to  master,  but  denied  to  mate, 

Yet  seem'd  it  as  in  that  least  sin  arose 

The  shapes  of  all  the  opening  deeps  disclose  ; 

The  general  phantom  of  a  life  whose  waste 

Ravaged  each  bloom  by  which  its  path  was  traced, 

Sporting  at  will,  and  moulding  sport  to  art, 

With  that  sad  holiness — the  Human  Heart ! 

Upon  his  lip  the  vain  excuses  died, 

In  vain  his  manhood  struggled  for  its  pride  ; 

Up  from  the  dead,  with  one  convulsive  throe, 

He  turn'd  his  gaze,  and  voiceless  faced  his  foe : 

A  horrid  glamour  fix'd  his  shape  to  stone. 

He  felt  those  eyes  glare  doom  upon  his  own ; 

He  saw  that  clench'd  and  quivering  hand  glide  slow 

To  the  bright  steel  the  robe  half  hid  below, — 

Near,  and  more  near,  he  felt  the  fiery  breath 

Breathe  on  his  cheek  ;  the  air  was  hot  with  death. 

And  yet  he  sought  nor  flight — nor  strove  for  prayer, — 

As  one,  stray'd — chance-led,  in  a  lion's  lair. 

Who  sees  his  fate,  nor  deems  submission  shame, — 

Unarm'd  to  wrestle,  and  unskill'd  to  tame. 


148  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Nerved  for  each  strife  that  social  life  recalls, 
But  here  the  strangeness  crushes  and  appals, 
And  the  brave  worldling  dwarf 'd  into  a  child, 
Beside  the  roused  Nemaean  of  the  wild  ! 

A  lifted  arm — a  gleaming  steel — a  cry 

Of  savage  vengeance ! — swiftly — suddenly, 

As  through  two  clouds  a  star — on  the  dread  time 

Shone  forth  an  angel  face  and  check'd  the  startled  crime  ! 

She  stood,  the  maiden  guest,  the  plighted  bride. 

The  victim's  daughter  by  the  madman's  side, 

Her  airy  clasp  upon  the  murtherous  arm. 

Her  pure  eyes  chaining  with  a  solemn  charm. 

Like  some  blest  thought  of  mercy,  on  a  soul 

Brooding  on  blood — the  holy  Image  stole  ! 

The  lifted  steel  fell  guiltless  on  the  floor. 

The  gulf  that  yawn'd  as  down  to  hell,  before. 

Abruptly  closed — the  demon  spell  was  o'er  ; 

And,  as  a  maniac  in  his  fellest  hour 

LuU'd  by  a  look  whose  calmness  is  its  power. 

Backward  the  Indian  quail'd  !  yet  even  less 

Him  moved  that  vision's  sudden  holiness 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  149 

Than  Arden  ! — startled  from  his  trance  of  death, 
A  newer  awe  with  wonder  strove  for  breath  ; 
Kneeling  he  clasp'd  the  robe — 

"  Com'st  thou  to  save 
Thine  own  1 — 0  God  !  comes  Mary  from  the  grave  ?" 
Then  with  a  bound  he  reach'd  the  Indian — 

*'Lo! 
I  tempt  thy  fury,  and  I  court  thy  blow  ; 
But,  by  men's   rights  o'er    men, — man,  speak  !    whose 

eyes 
Ope  on  life's  brink  my  youth's  lost  paradise  ? 
The  same — the  same — look,  look ! — the  same — lip,  brow, 
Form,  aspect, — all  and  each — fresh,  fair  as  now, 
Bloom'd  my  heart's  bride  !" — 

Silent  the  Indian  heard. 
Nor  seem'd  to  feel  the  grasp,  or  heed  the  word ! 
As  when  some  storm-beat  argosy  glides  free 
From  its  vain  wrath, — subsides  a  baffled  sea, — 
His  heaving  breast  calmed  back — the  tempest  fell, 
And  the  smooth  surface  veil'd  the  inward  hell. 
Yet  the  eye,  resting  on  the  wondering  maid, 
Somewhat  of  wo,  perchance  remorse,  betray'd, 
13* 


150  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

And  grew  to  doubtful  trouble — as  it  saw 

Her  aspect  brightening  slowly  from  the  awe, 

Gazing  on  Arden  till  shone  out  commix'd, 

Fear,  hope,  and  joy,  in  the  sweet  eyes  thus  fix'd  ! 

Instinctively  her  hand  within  her  vest 

Sought  the  sad  talisman  that  failed  the  breast, 

Her  mother's  death-gift ! — No  ! — to  Mor vale's  side 

She  rush'd  ;  one  trembling  hand  repell'd  the  bride, 

And  one  (for  well  the  question  he  divined) 

Drew  from  his  robe  the  relic  it  resign'd ; — 

She  heeded  not  his  gesture,  not  the  groan 

That  stirr'd  his  lips — the  Daughter  reign'd  alone : 

One  glance ! — oh,  yes  !  no  erring  hope  beguiled, 

"Father!"  she  sobb'd;  "  look,  look— and  bless  thy  child !" 

As  from  the  rock  the  bright  wave  leaps  to  day. 
The  mighty  instinct  forced  its  living  way ; 
No  need  of  farther  words  ; — all  clear — all  told  ; 
A  father's  arms  the  happy  child  enfold : 
Nature  alone  was  audible  ! — and  air 
Stirr'd  with  the  gush  of  tears,  and  gasps  of  murmur'd 
prayer ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON,  151 

Motionless  stands  the  Indian  ;  on  his  breast, 
As  one  the  death-shaft  pierces,  droops  his  crest ; 
His  hands  are  clasp'd — one  moment  the  sharp  thrill 
Shakes  his  strong  limbs ; — then  all  once  more  is  still ; 
And  form  and  aspect  the  firm  calmness  take 
Which  clothes  his  kindred  savage  at  the  stake  ! 
So — as  she  turn'd  her  looks — the  wo  behind 
That  quiet  mask,  the  girl's  quick  heart  divin'd, — 
And  with  fear — pity — and  the  soft  remorse. 
The  love  rush'd  back  to  its  suspended  course. 
"  O  Father  !"  Lucy  cried — "  not  first  on  me 
Pour  out  thy  blessings  ! — Him,  who  saved  me,  see  ! 
Him  who  from  want — from  famine — from  a  doom. 
Frowning  with  terrors  darker  than  the  tomb, 
Preserved  thy  child !" 

Before  the  Indian's  feet 
She  fell,  and  murmur'd — "  Bliss  is  incomplete 
Unless  thy  heart  can  share — thy  lips  can  greet !" 
Again  the  firm  frame  quiver'd ; — roused  again. 
The  bruised  eagle  struggled  from  the  chain ; 
Till  words  found  way,  and  with  the  effort  grew 
Man's  crowning  strength — Man's  evil  to  subdue. 


152  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

"  Foeman — 'tis  past ! — lo,  in  the  strife  between 
Thy  world  and  mine,  the  eternal  victory  seen  ! 
Thou,  with  light  arts,  my  realm  hast  overthrown, 
And,  see,  revenge  but  threats  to  bless  thine  own ! 
My  home  is  desolate — my  hearth  a  grave — 
The  Heaven  one  hour  that  seem'd  like  justice  gave. 
The  arm  is  raised,  the  sacrifice  prepared — 
The  altar  kindles,  and  the  victim's — spared  ! 
Free  as  before  to  smite  and  to  destroy, 
Thou  com'st  to  slaughter  to  depart  in  joy  ! 

*'  From  the  way  side — yon  drooping  flower  I  bore ; 
Warm'd  at  my  heart — its  root  grew  to  the  core, 
Dear  as  its  kindred  bloom — seen  through  the  bar 
By  some  long-thrall'd,  and  loneliest  prisoner — 
Now  comes  the  garden's  Lord,  transplants  the  flower, 
And  spoils  the  dungeon  to  enrich  the  bower — 
Yea,  the  same  hand  that  sentenced  to  the  bond. 
Plucks  from  the  scene,  the  all  that  soothed  beyond  ! 

*'  So  be  it,  law — and  the  world's  rights  are  thine ; 
Lost  the  stern  comfort.  Nature's  law  and  mine ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  153 

She  calls  thee  '  Father,'  and  the  long-deferr'd, 
Long-look'd  for  vengeance,  withers  at  the  word  ! 
Take  back  thy  child  !  Earth's  gods  to  thee  belong  ! 
To  me  the  iron  of  the  sense  of  wrong 
Heaven  makes  the  heart  which  Earth  oppresses — 
strong !" 

"  Not  so, — not  so  we  part !   O  husband  /"  cried 
The  Girl's  full  soul — "  Divorce  not  thus  thy  bride  ! 
Yes,  Father,  yes ! — in  wo  thy  Lucy  won 
This  generous  heart ; — shall  joy  not  leave  us  one  ?" 

A  moment  Arden  paused  in  mute  surprise 

(How  charm'd  that  outcast  Beauty's  blinded  eyes  ?) 

Then,  with  the  impulse  of  the  human  thought. 

Which  smiled  atonement  for  the  evil  wrought, 

"  Hear  her!"  he  said — "  her  words  her  father's  heart 

Echoes. — Not  so — nor  ever,  may  ye  part ! 

Nobly,  hast  thou  an  elder  right  than  mine 

Won  to  this  treasure; — still  its  care  be  thine; 

Withhold  thy  pardon  if  thou  wilt, — but  take 

The  holiest  offering  wi'ong  to  man  can  make !" 


154  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Slowly  the  Indian  lifts  his  joyless  head, 
Pointing  with  slow  hand  to  the  present  dead, 
And  from  slow  lips  comes  heavily  the  breath  : 
"  Behold  between  us  evermore — is  Death  !" 

"  Maiden,  recall  my  tale — thou  clasp'st  the  hand 
Which  shuts  the  Exile  from  the  promised  land  ; 
Go — ask  thy  heart  in  which  still  guide,  if  grieve, 
The  fresh,  pure  instincts  of  Earth's  virgin  Eve, 
If  the  dead  victim's  brother,  undefil'd, 
Could  ask  his  blessing  and  could  wed  his  child !" 
With  that  he  bent  him  o'er  the  shuddering  maid. 
On  her  fair  locks  a  solemn  hand  he  laid  ; 
Lifted  eyes,  tearless  still — but  dark  with  all 
The  cloud,  that  not  in  such  soft  dews  can  fall : 
"  And  so,  beloved  one — life's  all — farewell ! 
Still  by  my  hearth  thy  gentle  shade  shall  dwell ! 
Still,  shall  my  soul,  when  Night  the  dreariest  seem, 
Fly  back  to  thee,  O  soft — O  vanish'd  dream  ! 
If  to  the  Dead  an  offering  still  must  be. 
All  vensreance  calls  for  be  fulfill'd  in  me ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  155 

I  make  myself  the  victim! — thou  dread  Power 

Guiding  to  guilt  the  slow  chastising  hour, 

From  the  doom'd  hearth  by  her  chaste  step  made  pure, 

Let  this  lone  roof  thy  thunder-stroke  allure ! — 

Go  hence — (nay,  near  me  not !)  behold  ! — the  kind 

Oblivion  closes  round  her  darken'd  mind  ; 

If,  when  she  wake,  it  be  awhile  for  grief, 

Soon  dries  the  dew-drop  on  the  April  leaf!" 

He  said,  and  vanish'd,  with  a  noiseless  tread, 

Within  the  folds  which  curtain'd  round  the  dead  ! 

So,  the  stern  Dervish  of  the  East  inters 

His  sullen  soul  with  Death  in  sepulchres  ! 

His  new-found  prize,  while  yet  the  unconscious  sense 

Sleeps  in  the  mercy  of  the  brief  suspense. 

With  gliding  feet,  the  Father  steals  away. 

Grief  bends  alone  above  the  lonely  clay  ; 

But  over  grief  and  death  the  Eternal  Eye 

Shines  down, — and  Hope  lives  ever  in  the  sky. 

END    OF    PART    THE  THIRD. 


THE  NEW  TIMON. 


PART  THE  FOURTH. 

I. 

To  Joy's  brisk  ear  there's  music  in  the  throng ; 
Glorious  the  life  of  cities  to  the  strong ! 
What  myriad  charms,  all  differing,  smile  for  all 
The  hardier  Masks  in  the  Great  Carnival ! 
Amidst  the  vast  disguise,  some  sign  betrays 
To  each  the  appointed  pleasure  in  the  maze  ; 
Ambition,  pleasure,  love,  applause,  and  gold, 
Allure  the  young,  and  baby*  yet  the  old. 
For  here,  the  old,  if  nerves  and  stubborn  will 
Defy  Experience,  linger,  youthful  still. 
Haunt  the  same  rounds  of  idlesse — or  of  toil 
That  lure  the  freshest  footsteps  to  the  soil, 

"^  "  At  best  it  hahies  us." — Young. 
14 


158  THE  NEW  TI3I0N. 

Still  sway  the  Fashion  or  control  the  State, 

Gay  at  the  ball,  or  fierce  at  the  debate. 

It  is  not  youth,  it  is  the  zest  of  life 

Surviving  youth — in  age  itself  as  rife, 

That  fits  the  Babel  and  enjoys  the  strife  ; 

But  not  for  you  our  world's  bright  tumults  are 

Soft  natures,  born  beneath  the  Hesperus  star, — 

To  us  the  storm  is  but  the  native  breath ; 

To  you,  the  quickening  of  the  gale  is  death  ; 

Fly  from  each  change  our  varying  sky  bestows, — 

The  clime  that  suits  the  tender  is — Repose  ! 

Yours  Nature's  world,  not  man's ! — the  stillest  shade 

Where,  all  unseen,  the  cushat's  nest  is  made, 

Less  lone  to  you  than  pomps  which  but  bestow 

The  tinkling  cymbal  and  the  painted  show. 

The  lights  of  revel  flash  from  Arden's  halls ; 

There  throng  the  shapes  that  troop  where  Comus  calls ; 

But  not  Sabrina  more  apart  and  lone 

From  the  loud  joy,  on  her  pure  coral  throne. 

Than  thou,  sad  maiden  ! — round  the  holy  tide 

Swell  the  gay  notes,  the  airy  dancers  glide ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  159 

But  o'er  the  shadowy  grot  the  waters  roll, 
And  wall  the  revel  from  the  hidden  soul ! 
What  rank  has  noblest,  manhood's  grace  most  fair, 
Bend  low  to  her  now  hail'd  as  Arden's  heir  ; 
If  rumour  doubts  the  birthright  to  his  name, 
The  father's  wealth  redeems  the  mother's  shame ; 
And  kindly  thoughts  o'er  lordly  pride  prevail, 
"  The  Earl's  best  lands  are  not  in  the  entail." 

How  Arden  lov'd  his  child ! — how  spoke  that  love 
Of  those  dead  worlds  the  light  herb  waves  above ; 
Layer  upon  layer — those  strata  of  the  past, 
Those  gone  creations  buried  in  the  last ! 
Their  bloom,  their  life,  their  glory  past  away, 
Speak  in  this  relic  of  a  vanish'd  day. 
There,  in  that  guileless  face,  revived  anew 
The  visions  glistening  through  life's  morning  dew, 
Fair  Hope,  pure  Honour,  undefiled  Truth — 
The  young  shape  stood  before  him  as  his  youth  1* 


^  ^^  For  oh !  he  stood  before  me  as  my  youth." 

Coleridge's  Wallenstein. 


160  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

And  in  this  love  his  chastisement  was  found — 
The  thorns  he  had  planted,  here  enclosed  him  round ; 
He,  whom  to  see  had  been  to  love, — in  vain 
Here  loved ;  that  heart  no  answer  gave  again — 
It  lived  upon  the  past, — it  dwelt  afar, 
This  new-found  bond  from  what  it  loved  the  bar ! 
Her  conscience  chid,  yet,  while  it  chid,  her  thought 
Still  the  cold  past,  to  freeze  the  present,  brought  ; 
How  love  the  sire  round  whom  such  shadows  throng, 
The  mother's  death-bed  and  the  lover's  wrong ! 
The  dazzling  gifts,  which  had  through  life  beguil'd 
All  other  souls,  are  powerless  with  his  child. 
Vain  the  melodious  tongue,  and  vain  the  mind, 
Sparkling  and  free  as  wavelets  in  the  wind  ; 
The  roseate  wreath  the  handmaid  Graces  twine 
Round  sternest  hearts,  soft  infant,  breaks  on  thine ! 

Child,  candid,  simple,  frank,  to  her  allied. 
Far  more,  the  nature  sever'd  from  her  side. 
With  its  fresh  instincts  and  wild  verdure,  fann'd 
By  fragrant  winds  from  haunted  Fable-land ; 


THE   NEW  TIMON.  161 

Then  all  the  garden  graces  which  betray 
By  the  bough's  riches  the  worn  tree's  decay. 
What  charms  the  ear  of  Childhood  ? — not  the  page 
Of  that  romance  which  wins  the  sober  sage  ; 
Not  the  dark  truths,  like  warning  ghosts,  which  pass 
Along  the  pilgrim  path  of  Rasselas  ; 
Not  wit's  wrought  crystal  which,  so  coldly  clear, 
Reflects,  in  Zadig^  learning's  icy  sneer  ; 
Unreasoning,  wandering,  stronger  far  the  thrall 
Of  Aimee's  cave,*  or  young  Aladdin's  hall ; 
And  so  the  childhood  of  the  heart  will  find 
Charms  in  the  poem  of  a  child-like  mind, 
To  which  the  vision  of  the  world  is  blind ! 
Ev'n  as  the  savage,  'midst  the  desert's  gloom. 
Sees,  hid  from  us,  the  golden  fruitage  bloom, 
And,  where  the  parched  silence  wraps  us  all, 
Lists  the  soft  lapse  of  the  glad  waterfall ! 

So  Lucy  loved  not  Arden  1 — vainly  yearn 

His  moisten'd  eyes  ; — Can  softness  be  so  stern  ? 


*  The  beautiful  story  of  Aimee — the  delight  of  all  children 
—is  in  the  collection  entitled  '-The  Temple  of  the  Fairies.'^ 
14* 


162  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

That  soul  how  gentle  !  but  that  smile  how  cold  ! 

A  marble  shape  the  parent  arms  enfold  ; 

No  hurrying  footstep  bounds  his  own  to  meet, 

No  joyous  smiles  with  morning's  welcome  greet, 

Not  him  that  heart — so  bless'd  with  love — can  bless, 

Lost  the  pure  Eden  of  a  child's  caress ; 

He  saw — he  felt,  and  suffer'd  powerless ! 

Remorse  seized  on  him  ; — his  gay  spirit  quail'd  ; 

The  cloud  crept  on, — it  gather'd, — it  prevail'd. 

The  spectre  of  the  past — the  martyr  bride, 

Sate  at  his  board,  and  glided  by  his  side ; 

Sigh'd,  "  With  the  dead,  Love  the  Consoler  dies," 

And  spoke  his  sentence  in  his  child's  cold  eyes  ! 

And  now  a  strange  and  strong  desire  was  born, 

With  the  young  instinct  of  life's  credulous  morn. 

In  that  long-sceptic  breast,  so  world-corrupt  and  worn. 

From  the  rank  soil  in  which  grim  London  shrouds 
Her  dead, — the  green  halls  of  the  ghostly  crowds — 
To  bear  his  Mary's  dust ;  the  dust  to  lay 
By  the  clear  rill,  beside  her  father's  clay, 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  163 

Amidst  those  scenes  which  saw  the  rapture-strife 
And  growth  of  passion — life's  sweet  storm  of  life, 
Consign  the  silent  pulse,  the  mouldering  heart, 
Deaf  to  the  joy  to  meet — the  wo  to  part ; 
Rounding  and  binding  there,  as  into  one 
Sad  page,  the  tale  of  all  beneath  the  sun  ; 
And  there,  before  that  grave — beneath  the  beam 
Of  the  lone  stars,  and  by  that  starlit  stream, 
To  lead  the  pledge  of  that  fresh  morn  of  love, 
And  while  the  pardoning  skies  seem'd  soft  above, 
Murmur,  "  For  her  sake,  her,  who,  reconcil'd, 
Hears  us  in  heaven,  give  me  thy  heart,  my  child !" 
But  first — before  his  conscious  soul  could  dare 
For  the  consoling  balm  to  pour  the  prayer. 
Alone  the  shadows  of  the  past  to  brave. 
Alone  to  commune  with  the  accusing  grave, 
And  shrive  repentance  of  its  haunting  gloom 
Before  Life's  true  Confessional — the  Tomb  ! 
Such  made  his  dream  ! — Oh  !  not  in  vain  the  creed 
Of  old  that  knit  atonement  with  the  dead! 
The  penitent  offering,  the  lustrating  tide. 
The  wandering,  haunted,  hopeful  homicide, 


164  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Who  sees  the  spot  to  which  the  furies  urge. 

Where  halt  the  hell-hounds,  and  where  drops  the  scourge, 

And  the  appeased  Manes  pitying  sigh — 

"  Thou  hast  atoned !  once  more  enjoy  the  sky  !" 

Such  made  the  dream  he  rushes  to  fulfil ! — 

Round  the  new  mound  babbled  the  living  rill  ; 

A  name,  the  name  that  Arden's  wife  should  bear, 

Sculptured  the  late  and  vain  repentance  there. 

O'er  the  same  bridge  which  once  to  rapture  led. 

Went  the  same  steps  their  pathway  to  the  dead : 

Night  after  night  the  same  lone  shadow  gave 

A  tremulous  darkness  to  the  hurrying  wave ; 

Lost — and  then,  lengthening  from  the  neighbouring  yews, 

Dimrn'd  the  wan  shimmer  of  the  moon-lit  dews, 

Then  gained  a  grave ; — and  from  the  mound  was  thrown 

Still  as  the  shadow  of  its  funeral  stone ! 

II. 

Meanwhile  to  Morvale ! — Sorrow,  like  the  wind 
Through  trees,  stirs  varying  o'er  each  human  mind  ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  105 

Uprooting  some,  from  some  it  doth  but  strew 

Blossom  and  leaf,  which  spring  restores  anew ; 

From  some,  but  shakes  rich  powers  unknown  in  calm, 

And  wakes  the  trouble  to  extract  the  balm. 

Let  weaker  natures  suffer  and  despair, 

Great  souls  snatch  vigour  from  the  stormy  air ; 

Grief  not  the  languor, — Grief  the  action  brings  ; 

And  clouds  the  horizon  but  to  nerve  the  wings. 

Up  from  his  heavy  thought,  one  dawning  day, 
The  Indian,  silent,  rose,  and  went  his  way  ; 
Palace  and  pomp  and  wealth  and  ease  resign'd 
As  one  new-born,  he  plunged  amidst  his  kind. 
Whither,  with  what  intent,  he  scarce  divined. 
He  turn'd  to  see,  through  mists  obscure  and  dun, 
The  domes  and  spires  of  the  wan  Babylon ; 
Before  him  smiled  the  mead  and  waved  the  corn, 
And  Nature's  music  swell'd  the  hymns  of  Morn! 
A  sense  of  freedom,  of  the  large  escape 
From  the  pent  walls  our  customs  round  us  shape; 
The  imperfect  sympathies  which  curse  the  few, 
Who  not  the  chase  the  many  join  pursue  ; 


166  THE   NEW  TIMON. 

The  trite  convention,  with  its  cold  control, 
Which  thralls  the  habit,  yet  not  links  the  soul ; 
— The  sense  of  freedom  pass'd  into  his  breast, 
But  found  no  hope  it  flatter'd  and  caressed ; 
So  the  sad  captive,  when  at  length  made  free, 
Shrinks  from  the  sunlight  he  had  pined  to  see ; 
Feels  on  the  limb  the  custom  of  the  chain, 
Each  step  a  struggle  and  each  breath  a  pain, 
And  knows — return'd  unto  the  world  too  late. 
No  smile  shall  greet  him  at  its  lonely  gate; 
Seal'd  every  eye,  of  old  that  watch'd  and  wept ; 
The  world  he  knew  has  vanished  while  he  slept ! 

He  wander'd  on,  alone,  on  foot, — alone. 
As  in  the  waste  his  earlier  steps  had  known. 
Forth  went  the  peasant — Adam's  curse  begun  ; — 
Home  went  the  peasant  in  the  western  sun  ; 
He  heard  the  bleating  fold,  the  lowing  herd. 
The  last  shrill  carol  of  the  nestling  bird ! 
He  saw  the  rare  lights  of  the  hamlet  gleam 
And  fade ; — the  stars  grow  stiller  on  the  stream  ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  167 

Swart,  by  the  woodland,  cowers  the  gipsy  tent 
Whence  peer  dark  eyes  that  watch'd  him  as  he  went — 
He  paused  and  turned : — Him  more  the  outlaws  charm 
Than  the  trim  hostel  and  the  happy  farm. 
Strangers,  like  him,  from  antique  lands  afar. 
Aliens  untamed  where'er  their  wanderings  are, 
High  Syrian  sires  of  old  ;* — dark  fragments  torn 
From  the  great  creed  of  Isis, — now  forlorn 
In  rags — all  earth  their  foe,  and  day  by  day 
Worn  in  the  strife  with  social  Jove,  away — 
Wretched  'tis  true,  yet  less  enslaved,  their  strife 
Than  our  false  peace  with  all  this  masque  of  life. 
Convention's  lies, — the  league  with  Custom  made, 
The  crimes  of  glory,  and  the  frauds  of  trade. 
Rest  and  rude  food  the  lawless  Nomads  yield  ; 
The  dews  rise  ghost-like  from  the  whitening  field 


^  According  to  the  hypothesis  of  Voltaire,  that  the  Gipsies 
are  a  Syrian  tribe,  the  remains  of  the  long  scattered  frater- 
nity of  Isis, — an  hypothesis  which  has  more  in  its  favour 
than  at  first  appears — against  the  recent  and  now  popularly 
received  opinion  which  deduces  their  vagrant  origin  from 
India. 


168  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

And  ghost-like  on  the  wanderer  glides  the  sleep 
Through    which  the  phantom  Dreams,  their  witching 
Sabbat  keep ! 

At  dawn,  while  yet,  around  the  Indian,  lay 

The  dark  fantastic  groups, — resumed  the  way ; 

Before  his  steps  the  landscape  spreads  more  free 

And  fresh  from  Man; — ev'n  as  a  broadening  sea, 

When,  more  and  more  the  harbour  left  behind. 

The  lone  sail  drifts  before  the  strengthening  wind. 

Behold  the  Sun ! — how  stately  from  the  East, 

Bright  from  God's  presence,  comes  the  glorious  Priest ! 

Deck'd  as  beseems  the  Mighty  One  to  whom 

Heaven  gives  the  charge  to  hallow  and  illume ! 

How,  as  he  comes, — through  the  Great  Temple,  Earth, 

Peals  the  rich  Jubilee  of  grateful  mirth  ! 

The  infant  flowers  their  odour-censers  swinging, 

Through  aisled  glades  Air's  Anthem-Chorus  ringing; 

While,  like  some  soul  lifted  aloft  by  love. 

High  and  alone  the  sky-lark  halts  above. 

High,  o'er  the  sparkling  dews,  the  glittering  corn, 

Hymns  his  frank  happiness  and  hails  the  morn ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  169 

He  stands  upon  the  green  hill's  lighted  brow, 
And  sees  the  world  at  smiling  peace  below, 
Hamlet  and  farm,  and  thy  best  type.  Desire 
Of  the  sad  Heart, — the  Heaven-ascending  spire  ! 

He  stood  and  mused,  and  thus  his  musing  ran : — 
"  How  strong,  how  feeble,  O  vain  Art  of  Man  ! 
Thou  coverest  Earth  with  wonders — at  thy  hand 
Curbs  the  meek  water,  blooms  the  subject  land : 
Why  halts  thy  magic  here  ? — Why  only  deck'd 
Earth's  sterile  surface,  mournful  Architect? 
Why  art  thou  powerless  o'er  the  world  within  ? 
Why  raise  the  Eden,  yet  retain  the  sin  1 
Why,  while  the  earth,  thou  but  enjoy'st  an  hour, 
Betrays  thy  splendour  and  attests  thy  power. 
Why  o'er  the  spirit  does  thy  sorcery  cease  ? — 
Lo  the  sweet  landscape  round  thee  lull'd  in  peace  ! 
Why  wakes  each  heart  to  sorrow,  care,  and  strife? 
Why  with  yon  temple  so  at  war  the  life  ? 
Why  all  so  slight  the  variance,  or  in  grief 
Or  guilt, — the  sum  of  suffering  and  relief, 
15 


170  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Between  the  desert's  son  whose  wild  content 
Redeems  no  waste  and  charms  no  element 
And  ye  the  Magians  ? — ye  the  giant  birth 
Of  Lore  and  Science — Brahmins  of  the  Earth  ? 
Behold  the  calm  herd  drinking  in  the  stream, 
Behold  the  glad  bird  glancing  in  the  beam,  ^ 

Say,  know  ye  pleasure, — ye,  the  Eternal  Heirs 
Of  stars  and  spheres — life's  calm  content,  like  theirs  ? 
Your  stores  enrich,  your  powers  exalt  the  few, 
And  curse  the  millions  wealth  and  power  subdue ; 
And  ev'n  the  few — what  lord  of  luxury  knows 
The  joy  in  strife,  the  sweetness  in  repose. 
Which  bless  the  houseless  Arab'/ — Still  behind 
Ease  waits  Disgust,  and  with  the  falling  wind 
Droop  the  dull  sails  ordained  to  wing  the  mind. 
Increasing  wants  the  sum  of  care  increase, 
The  piled  up  knowledge  but  sepulchres  peace. 
Ye  quell  the  instincts,  the  free  love,  frank  hate, 
And  bid  hard  Reason  hold  the  scales  of  Fate — 
What  is  your  gain  1 — from  each  slain  instinct  springs 
A  hydra  passion,  poisoning  while  it  stings ; 


THE   NEW  TI3I0N.  171 

Free  love  foul  lust ; — the  frank  hate's  manly  strife 
A  plotting  mask'd  dissimulating  life  ; — 
Truth  flies  the  world — one  falsehood  taints  the  sky, 
Each  form  a  phantom,  and  each  word  a  lie ! 

"  Yet  what  am  I? — the  crush'd  and  baffled  foe. 
Who  dared  the  strife,  yet  would  denounce  the  blow. 
What  arms  had  I  against  this  world  to  wield  ? 
What  mail  the  naked  savage  heart  to  shield  ? 
To  this  hoar  world  I  brought  the  trusts  of  youth, 
Warm  zeal  for  men,  and  fixed  repose  in  trnlh — 
Amongst  the  young  I  look'd  for  young  desires. 
Love  which  adores,  and  Honour  which  aspires — 
Amongst  the  old,  for  souls  set  free  from  all 
The  earthlier  chains  which  young  desires  enthrall, 
Serene  and  gentle  both  to  soothe  and  chide, 
The  sires  to  pity,  yet  the  seers  to  guide — 
And  lo  I  this  civilized  and  boasted  plan. 
This  order'd  ring  and  harmony  of  man, 
One  hideous,  cynic,  levelling  orgy,  where 
Youth  Age's  ice,  and  Age  Youth's  fever  share — 


172  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

The  unvvrinkled  brow,  the  calculating  brain, 
The  passion  balanced  with  the  weights  of  gain, 
And  Age  more  hotly  clutching  than  the  boy 
At  the  lewd  bauble  and  the  gilded  toy. 

*'  Why  should  I  murmur? — why  accuse  the  strong? 

I  own  Earth's  law — the  conquer'd  are  the  wrong. 

Am  I  ambitious  ? — in  this  world  I  stand 

Closed  from  the  race,  an  Alien  in  the  land. 

Dare  I  to  love — O  soul,  O  heart,  forget 

That  dream,  that  frenzy  ! — what  is  left  me  yet  ? 

Revenge!" — His  dark  eyes  flash'd — yet  straightway  died 

The  passionate  lightning — "  No  ! — revenge  denied  ! 

All  the  wild  man  in  the  tame  slave  is  dead. 

The  currents  stagnate  in  the  girded  bed ! 

Back  to  my  desert ! — yet,  O  sorcerer's  draught, 

O  smooth  false  world, — what  soul,  that  once  has  quaff'd, 

Renounces  not  the  ancient  manliness  ? 

JSfoiv,  could  the  Desert  the  charm'd  victim  bless  ! 

Can  the  caged  bird,  escaped  from  bondage,  share 

As  erst  the  freedom  of  the  hardy  air  ? 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  173 

Can  the  poor  peasant,  lured  by  Wealth's  caprice 

To  marts  and  domes,  find  the  old  native  peace 

In  the  old  hut? — on-rushing  is  the  mind : 

It  ne'er  looks  back  on  what  it  leaves  behind. 

Once  cut  the  cable  and  unfurl  the  sail, 

And  spreads  the  boundless  sea,  and  drifts  the  fatal  gale ! 

"  Come  then,  my  Soul,  thy  thoughts  thy  desert  be  ! 

Thy  dreams  thy  comrades ! — I  escape  to  thee  ! 

Within,  the  gates  unbar,  the  airs  expand, 

No  bound  but  Heaven  confines  the  Spirit's  Land ! 

Such  luxury  yet  as  what  of  Nature  lives 

In  Art's  lone  wreck,  the  lingering  instinct  gives  ; 

Joy  in  the  Sun,  and  mystery  in  the  Star, 

Light  of  the  Unseen,  commune  with  the  Far; 

Man's  law  his  fellow,  ev'n  in  scorn,  to  save. 

And  hope  in  some  just  World  beyond  the  Grave  !" 

So  went  he  on,  and  day  succeeds  to  day. 
And  still  untired  the  step,  and  track'd  the  way  ; 
At  night  his  pause  was  at  the  lowliest  door. 
The  beggar'd  heart  makes  brothers  of  the  Poor  ; 
15* 


174  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

They  who  most  writhe  beneath  Man's  social  wrong, 

But  love  the  feeble  when  they  hate  the  strong. 

Laud  not  to  me  the  optimists  who  call 

Each  knave  a  brother — Parasites  of  all — 

Praise  not  as  genial  his  indifferent  eye, 

Who  lips  the  cant  of  mock  philanthropy, 

He  who  loathes  ill  must  more  than  half  which  lies 

In  this  ill  world  with  generous  scorn  despise  ; 

Yet  of  the  wrong  he  hates,  the  grief  he  shares. 

His  lip  rebuke,  his  soul  compassion,  wears ; 

The  Hermit's  wrath  bespeaks  the  Preacher's  hope ; 

Who  loves  men  most — men  call  the  Misanthrope ! 

At  times  with  honest  toil  reposed — at  times 
Where  gnawing  wants  beset  despairing  crimes. 
Both  still  betray'd  the  sojourn  of  his  soul, 
Here  wise  to  cheer,  there  fearless  to  control. 
His  that  strange  power  the  Church's  Fathers  had 
To  awe  the  fierce  and  to  console  the  sad  ; 
For  he,  like  them,  had  sinn'd  ; — like  them  had  known 
Life's  wild  extremes ; — their  trials  were  his  own  ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON. 


175 


Were  we  as  rich  in  charity  of  deed 

As  gold — what  rock  would  bloom  not  with  the  seed  ? 

We  give  our  alms,  and  cry — "  What  can  we  more  V 

One  hour  of  time  were  worth  a  load  of  ore  ! 

Give  to  the  ignorant  our  own  wisdom  ! — give 

Sorrow  our  comfort ! — lend  to  those  who  live 

In  crime,  the  counsels  of  our  virtue! — share 

With  souls  our  souls,  and  Satan  shall  despair ! 

Alas,  what  converts  one  man,  who  would  take 

The  cross  and  staff,  and  house  with  Guilt,  could  make  1 

Still,  in  his  breast,  'midst  much  that  well  might  shame 

The  virtues  Christians  in  themselves  proclaim, 

There  dwelt  the  Ancient  Heathen ;— still  as  strong 

Doubts  in  Heaven's  justice,— curses  for  man's  wrong. 

Revenge  denied  in  deed — still  rankled  deep 

In  thought— and  dimm'd  the  day,  and  marr'd  the  sleep, 

And  there  were  hours  when  from  the  hell  within 

Faded  the  angel  that  had  saved  from  sin ; 

When  the  fell  fury,  beckoning  through  the  gloom, 

Cried  "  Life  for  life— thou  hast  betray'd  the  tomb !" 


176  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

For  the  grim  Honour  of  the  ancient  time, 
Deem'd  vengeance  duty  and  forgiveness  crime  ; 
And  the  stern  soul  fanatic  conscience  scared, 
For  blood  not  shed,  and  injury  weakly  spared ; — 
Wo,  if  in  hours  like  these,  O  more  than  wo, 
Had  the  roused  tiger  met  the  pardoned  foe ! 

Nor  when  his  instinct  of  the  life  afar 

SoarM  from  the  soil  and  task'd  the  unansvvering  star. 

Came  more  than  Hope — that  reflex-beam  of  Faith — 

That  fitful  moonlight  on  the  unknown  path ; 

And  not  the  glory  of  the  joyous  sun. 

That  fills  with  light  whate'er  it  shines  upon  ; 

In  which  the  smiles  of  God  as  brightly  fall 

On  the  lone  charnel  as  the  festive  hall ! 

Now  Autumn  closes  on  the  fading  year, 

The  chill  wind  moaneth  through  the  woodlands  sere ; 

At  morn  the  mists  lie  mournful  on  the  hill, — 

The  hum  of  summer's  populace  is  still ! 

Hush'd  the  rife  herbage,  mute  the  choral  tree, 

The  blithe  cicala,  and  the  murmuring  bee  ; 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  177 

The  plashing  reed,  the  furrow  on  the  glass 

Of  the  calm  wave,  as  by  the  bank  you  pass. 

Scaring  the  glistening  trout, — delight  no  more  ; 

The  god  of  fields  is  dead— Pan's  lusty  reign  is  o'er  ! 

Solemn  and  earnest — yet  to  holier  eyes 

Not  void  of  glory,  arch  the  sober'd  skies 

Above  the  serious  earth ! — ev'n  as  the  age 

When  fades  the  sunlight  from  the  poet's  page. 

When  all  Creation  is  no  longer  rife, 

As  Jove's  lost  creed,  with  deity  and  life — 

And  where  Apollo  hymn'd,  where  Venus  smil'd ; 

Where  laugh'd  from  every  rose  the  Paphian  child  ; 

Where  in  each  wave  the  wanton  nymph  was  seen  ; 

Where  in  each  moonbeam  shone  Endymion's  queen ; 

Where  in  each  laurel,  from  the  eternal  bough, 

Daphne  wreathed  chaplets  for  a  dreamy  brow ; 

To  the  wreck'd  thrones  of  the  departed  creed 

A  solemn  Faith,  a  lonely  God  succeed  ; 

And  o'er  the  heathen  altars  of  our  Youth 

Reigns,  'mid  a  silence  disenchanted, — Truth ! 


178  THE  NEW  TIM  ON. 


Beneath  the  still  boughs  of  the  yellowing  beech, 

An  old  man  sate — whose  mission  was  to  teach 

God's  saving  Word  ; — no  hierarch  of  the  Fane 

Who  sounds  the  Jordan  for  the  golden  grain  ; 

But  the  calm  dweller  by  the  streams  of  life  ; 

Unknown  to  fame,  for  what  is  fame  but  strife? — 

Heaven's  own  true  priest,  from  earth's  worst  tempters 

pure. 
Gold  and  Ambition  ; — sainted  and  obscure ! 
Before  his  knee,  (the  Gospel  in  his  hands, 
And  sunshine  at  his  heart,)  a  youthful  listener  stands  ! 

The  old  man  spoke  of  Christ — of  Him  who  bore 
Our  form,  our  woes; — that  man  might  evermore 
In    succouring    wo-worn  man,  the  God,  made  Man, 

adore ! 
"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  in  the  far-heathen  days, 
Hope  was  a  dream,  Belief  an  endless  maze  ; 
The  wise  perplex'd,  yet  still  with  glimpse  sublime 
Of  ports  dim-looming  o'er  the  seas  of  Time 


THE  NEW  TIM  ON.  179 

Guess'd  Him  unworshipp'd  yet — the  Power  above, 

Or  Dorian  Phoebus,  or  Pelasgic  Jove  ! 

Guess'd  the  far  realm,  not  won  by  Charon's  oar. 

Not  the  pale  joys  the  brave  who  gain  abhor ; 

No  cold  Elysium  where  the  very  Blest 

Envy  the  living  and  deplore  the  rest  ,** 

Where  ev'n  the  spirit,  as  the  form,  a  ghost. 

Dreams  back  life's  conflicts  on  the  shadowy  coast, 

Hears  but  the  clashing  steel,  the  armed  train, 

And  waves  the  airy  spear,  and  murders  hosts  again ! 

More  just  the  prescience  of  the  eternal  goal, 

Which  gleam'd,  'mid  Cyprian  shades,  on  Zeno's  soul. 

Or  shone  to  Plato  in  the  lonely  cave ; 

God  in  all  space,  and  life  in  every  grave ! 


*  Whoever  is  well  acquainted  with  the  heathen  learning, 
must  often  have  been  deeply  impressed  with  the  moarnful 
character  of  the  mythological  Elysium.  Even  the  few  ad- 
miUed  to  the  groves  of  asphodel,  unpurified  by  death,  retain 
the  passions  and  pine  with  the  griefs  of  life;  they  envy  the 
mortal  whom  the  poet  brings  to  their  moody  immortality; 
and,  amidst  the  disdained  repose,  sigh  for  the  struggle  and 
the  storm. 


180  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Wise  lore  and  high, — but  for  the  few  conceived  ; 
By  schools  discuss'd,  but  not  by  crowds  believed. 
The  angel-ladder  clomb  the  heavenly  steep, 
But  at  its  foot  the  patriarchs  did  but  sleep ; 
They  did  not  preach  to  nations  *  Lo  your  God  !' 
No  thousands  followed  where  their  footsteps  trod ; 
Not  to  the  fisherman  they  said  '  Arise !' 
Not  to  the  lowly  they  reveal'd  the  skies  ; — 
Wisdom  was  theirs — alas !  what  men  most  need 
Not  the  sect's  wisdom,  but  the  people's  creed  !* 

*  Not  only  were  the  lofty  and  cheering  notions  of  the  soul 
cherished  by  the  more  illustrious  philosophers  of  Greece, 
confined  to  a  few,  but  even  the  grosser  and  dimmer  belief 
in  a  future  state  which  the  vulgar  mythology  implied,  was 
not  entertained  by  the  multitude.  Plato  remarked  that  few, 
even  in  his  day,  had  faith  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul ; 
and  indeed  the  Hades  of  the  ancients  was  not  for  the  Many. 
Amongst  those  condemned,  we  find  few  criminals,  except 
the  old  Titans,  and  such  as  imitated  them  in  the  one  crime — 
blasphemy  to  the  fabled  gods :  And  the  dwellers  of  Elysium 
are  chiefly  confined  to  the  poets  and  heroes,  the  oligarchy 
of  earth.  That  all  men  should  live  again — whether  for 
weal  or  wo ;  that  slave  and  hero  had  the  same  birthright, 
and  should  be  judged  by  an  impartial  law,  was  a  more 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  181 

Then,  not  for  schools — but  for  the  human  kind — 
The  uncultured  reason,  the  unletter'd  mind  ; 
The  poor,  the  oppressed,  the  labourer,  and  the  slave, 
God  said,  *  Be  light !' — and  light  was  on  the  Grave ! 
No  more  alone  to  sage  and  hero  given, 
Ope  for  all  life,  the  impartial  Gates  of  Heaven ! 
Enough  hath  Wisdom  dream'd,  and  Reason  erred. 
All  they  would  seek  is  found  ! — O'er  Nature  sleeps  the 
Word ! 

*'  Thou  ask'st  why  Christ,  so  lenient  to  the  deed^ 
So  sternly  claims  Xhe  faith  which  founds  the  creed ; 
Because,  reposed  in  faith  the  soul  has  calm  ; 
The  hope  a  haven  and  the  wound  a  balm  ; 
Because  the  light,  dim  seen  in  Reason's  dream. 
On  all  alike,  through  faith  alone,  could  stream. 
God  vvill'd  support  to  Weakness,  joy  to  Grief, 
And  so  descended  from  his  throne — Belief  ! 


unfamiliar  doctrine  than  one  who  has  read  Tully  and  Plato 
without  surveying  the  general  darkness  of  the  contempo- 
raneous populacCj  might  readily  believe. 

16 


182  THE   NEW  TI3I0N. 

Nor  this  alone— Have  faith  in  things  above, 

The  unseen  Beautiful  of  Fleavenly  Love  ; 

And  from  that  faith  what  virtues  have  their  birth, 

What  spiritual  meanings  gird,  like  air,  the  Earth! 

A  deeper  thought  inspires  the  musing  sage  ; 

To  youth  what  visions — what  delights  to  age ! 

A  loftier  genius  wakens  in  the  world, 

To  starrier  heights  more  vigorous  wings  unfurl'd. 

No  more  the  outward  senses  reign  alone, 

The  Soul  of  Nature  glides  into  our  own. 

To  reason  less  is  to  imagine  more ; 

They  most  aspire  who  meekly  most  adore  1 

"  Therefore  the  God-like  Comforter's  decree — 
'  His  sins  be  loosen'd  who  hath  feith  in  me.' 
Therefore  he  shunn'd  the  cavils  of  the  wise, 
And  made  no  schools  the  threshold  of  the  skies  : 
Therefore  he  taught  no  Pharisee  to  preach 
His  Word — the  simple  let  the  simple  teach. 
Upon  the  infant  on  his  knee  he  smiled, 
And  said  to  Wisdom,  '  Be  once  more  a  child  1' " 


THE   NEW  TIMON.  183 

The  boughs  behind  the  old  man  gently  stirr'd, 

By  one  unseen  those  Gospel  accents  heard  ; 

Before  the  preacher  bow'd  the  pilgrim's  head  : 

*'  Heaven  to  this  bourne  my  rescued  steps  hath  led, 

Grieving,  perplex'd — benighted,  yet  with  dim 

Hopes  in  God's  justice, — be  my  guide  to  Him  : 

In  vain  made  man,  I  mourn  and  err ! — restore 

Childhood's  pure  soul,  and  ready  trust,  once  more  !" 

The  old  man  on  the  stranger  gazed  ;  unto 

The  stranger's  side  the  old  man  softly  drew, 

And  gently  clasp'd  his  hand  ; — and  on  the  three 

The  western  sun  shone  still  and  smilingly  ; 

But,  round — behind  them — dark  and  lengthening  lay 

The  massive  shadow  of  the  closing  day. 

"  See,"  said  the  preacher,  "  Darkness  hurries  on, 

But  Man,  toil- wearied,  grieves  not  for  the  Sun, 

He  knows  the  light  that  leaves  him  shall  return. 

And  hails  the  night  because  he  trusts  the  morn  ! 

Believe  in  God  as  in  the  sun, — and,  lo ! 

Along  thy  soul,  morn's  youth  restored  shall  glow  ! 

As  rests  the  earth,  so  rest,  O  troubled  heart. 

Rest,  till  the  burden  of  the  cloud  depart ; 


184  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Rest,  till  the  gradual  veil  from  Heaven  withdrawn, 
Renews  thy  freshness  as  it  yields  the  dawn  !" 

Behold  the  storm-beat  wanderer  in  repose  ! 

He  lists  the  sounds  at  which  the  Heavens  unclose, 

Gleam,  through  expanding  bars,  the  angel-wings, 

And  floats  the  music  borne  from  seraph-strings. 

Holy  the  oldest  creed  which  Nature  gives. 

Proclaiming  God  where'er  Creation  lives  ; 

But  there  the  doubt  will  come  ! — the  clear  design 

Attests  the  Maker  and  suggests  the  Shrine  ; 

But  in  that  visible  harmonious  plan, 

What  present  shows  the  future  world  to  man  ? 

What  lore  detects,  beneath  our  cruQibling  clay, 

A  soul  exiled,  and  journeying  back  to  day  ; 

What  knowledge,  in  the  bones  of  charnel  urns, 

The  ethereal  spark,  the  undying  thought,  discerns? 

How  from  the  universal  war,  the  prey 

Of  life  on  life,  can  love  explore  the  way  ? 

Search  the  material  tribes  of  earth,  sea,  air. 

And  the  fierce  Self  that  strives  and  slays  is  there. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  185 

What  but  that  Self  to  Man  doth  Nature  teach  ? 
Where  the  charm'd  link  that  binds  the  all  to  each  ? 
Where  the  sweet  Law — (doth  Nature  boast  its  birth  .') — 
"  Good  will  to  man,  and  charity  to  earth  1" 
Not  in  the  world  without,  but  that  within, 
Revealed,  not  instinct — soul  from  sense  can  win  ! 
And  where  the  Natural  halts,  where  cramp'd,  confined. 
The  seen  horizon  bounds  the  baffled  mind, 
The  Inspired  begins — the  onward  march  is  given  ; 
Bridging  all  space,  nor  ending  ev'n  in  Heaven  ! 
There,  veil'd  on  earth,  we  mark  divinely  clear, 
Duty  and  end — the  There  explains  the  Here ! 
We  see  the  link  that  binds  the  future  band, 
Foeman  with  foeman  gliding  hand  and  hand ; 
And  feel  that  Hate  is  but  an  hour's — the  son 
Of  earth,  to  perish  when  the  earth  is  done — = 
But  Love  eternal ;  and  we  turn  below, 
To  hail  the  Brother  where  we  loathed  the  foe : 
There  in  the  soft  and  beautiful  Belief, 
Flows  the  true  Lethe  for  the  lips  of  Grief; 
There,  Penury,  Hunger,  Misery,  cast  their  eyes, 
How  soon  the  bright  Republic  of  the  Skies ! 
16* 


186  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

There,  Love,  heart-broken,  sees  prepared  the  bower, 
And  hears  the  bridal  step,  and  waits  the  nuptial  hour ! 
There,  smiles  the  mother  we  have  wept !  there  bloom 
Again  the  buds  asleep  within  the  tomb. 
There,  o'er  bright  gates  inscribed,  "  No  more  to  part," 
Soul  springs  to  soul ;  the  heart  unites  to  heart ! — 

Refresh'd  in  that  soft  baptism,  and  reborn. 

The  Indian  woke,  and  on  the  world  was  morn  ! 

All  things  seem'd  new — rose-colour'd  in  the  skies 

Shone  the  hoary  peaks  of  the  old  memories ; 

No  more  enshrouded  with  unbroken  gloom 

Calantha's  injured  name  and  early  tomb — 

No  more  with  wo,  (how  ill-suppress'd  by  pride !) 

Thought  sounds  the  gulf  that  parts  the  promised  bride  ! 

Faithful  no  less  to  Death,  and  true  to  Love, 

This  blooms  again — that  shall  rejoin,  above ! 

The  Stoic  courage  had  the  wound  conceal'd  ,- 

The  Christian  hope  the  wound's  sharp  torture  heal'd. 

As  rude  the  waste,  but  now  before  him  shone 

The  star ; — he  rose,  and  cheerful  journey'd  on, 

Full  of  the  God  most  with  us  when  alone ! 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  187 


III. 


Tis  night, — a  night  by  fits,  now  foul,  now  fair, 
As  speed  the  cloud-wracks  through  the  gusty  air : 
At  times  the  wild  blast  dies — and  fair  and  far. 
Through  chasms  of  cloud,  looks  down  the  solemn  star- 
Or  the  majestic  moon ; — as  watch-fires  mark 
Some  sleeping  War  dim-tented  in  the  dark  ; 
Or  as,  through  antique  Chaos  and  the  storm 
Of  matter,  whirl'd  and  writhing  into  form 
Pale  angels  peer'd ! 

Anon,  from  brief  repose 
The  winds  leap  forth,  the  cloven  deeps  reclose ; 
Mass  upon  mass  the  hurtling  vapours  driven, 
As  one  huge  blackness  walls  the  earth  from  heaven !- 
In  one  of  these  brief  lulls — you  see,  serene. 
The  village  church  spire  'mid  its  mounds  of  green, 
The  scatter'd  roof-toops  of  the  hamlet  round, 
And  the  swoln  rill  that  girds  the  holy  ground. — 


188  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

A  plank,  that  rock'd  above  the  rushing  wave, 

The  dizzy  pathway  to  a  wanderer  gave  ; 

There,  as  he  paused,  from  the  lone  churchyard,  slow 

Emerged  a  form  the  wanderer's  eyes  should  know  ! 

It  gains  the  opposing  margent  of  the  stream, 

Full  on  the  face  shines  calm  the  crescent  beam ; 

It  halts  upon  the  bridge  ! — Now,  Indian,  learn 

If  in  thy  soul  the  heathen  yet  can  yearn  ! 

Swift  runs  the  wave,  the  instinct  and  the  hour. 

The  lonely  night,  when  evil  thoughts  have  power, 

The  foe  before  thee  and  no  things  that  live 

To  witness  vengeance  1 — Canst  thou  still  forgive? 

Scarce  seen  by  each  the  face  of  each — when,  deep 

O'er  the  lost  moon,  the  cloud's  loud  surges  sweep ; 

Yea,  as  a  sea  devours  the  fated  bark, 

Vanish'd  the  heaven,  and  closed  the  abyss  of  dark ! 

You  heard  the  roaring  of  the  mighty  blast, 

The  groaning  trees  uprooted  as  it  pass'd. 

The  wrath  and  madness  of  the  starless  rill, 

Swell'd  by  each  torrent  rushing  from  the  hill. 

The  slight  plank  creaks — high  mount  the  waves  and  high, 

Hark !  with  the  tempest's  shrieks  the  human  cry ! 


THE  TSEW  TIMON.  1S9 

Upon  the  bridge  but  one  man  now ! — below, 
The  night  of  waters  and  the  drowning  foe ! 
The  Indian  heard  the  death  cry  and  the  fall  ; 
Still  o'er  the  wild  scene  hung  the  funeral  pall ! 
What  eye  can  pierce  the  darkness  of  the  wave  ? 
What  hand  guide  rescue  through  the  roaring  grave  1 
Not  for  such  craven  questions  pause  the  brave ! 
Again  the  moon  ! — again  the  churchyard's  green, 
Spire,  hamlet,  mead,  and  rill  reclothe  the  scene ! — 
But  on  the  bridge  no  form,  no  life! — The  beam 
Shoots  wan  and  broken  on  the  tortured  stream  ; 
Vague,  indistinct,  what,  yonder,  moveth  o'er 
The  troubled  tide,  and  struggles  to  the  shore  ? 
Hark,  where  the  sere  bough  of  the  tossing  tree 
Snaps  in  the  grasp  of  some  strong  agony. 
And  the  dull  plunge,  and  stifled  cry  betray 
Where  the  grim  water-fiend  reclasps  his  prey  ! 

Still  shines  the  moon — still  halts  the  panting  storm. 
It  moves  again — the  shadow  shapes  to  form, 
Lo !  where  yon  bank  shelves  gradual  and  the  ray 
Silvers  the  reed,  it  cleaves  its  vigorous  way ; — 


190  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Saved  from  the  deep,  but  happier  far  to  save, 
The  foeman  wrests  the  foeman  from  the  grave ! 
Still  shmes  the  moon — still  halts  the  storm ! — above 
His  sons,  looks  down  divine  the  Father-love  ! 
Upon  the  Indian's  breast  droops  Arden's  head, 
Its  marble  beauty  rigid  as  the  dead. 
What  skill  so  fondly  tends  the  soul's  eclipse, 
Chafes  the  stiff  limb,  and  breathes  in  breathless  lips? 
Woos  back  the  flickering  life,  and  when,  once  more. 
The  ebbing  blood  the  wan  cheeck  mantles  o'er; 
When  stirs  the  pulse,  when  opes  the  glazing  eye. 
What  voice  of  joy  finds  listeners  in  the  sky  ? 
"  Bless  thee,  my  God — this  mercy  thine  ! — he  lives  ; 
Look  in  my  heart,  forgive — for  it  forgives !" 

Then,  while  yet  clear  the  heaven,  he  flies — he  gains 
The  nearest  roof — prompt  aid  his  prayer  obtains  ; 
Well  known  the  noble  stranger's  mien — they  bear 
To  the  rude  home,  and  ply  the  zealous  care  ; 
Life  with  the  dawn  comes  sure,  if  faint  and  slow, 
And  all  night  long  the  foeman  watch'd  the  foe  ? 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  191 

Day  dawns  on  earth,  still  darkness  wraps  the  mind ; 
Sleep  pass'd,  the  waking  is  a  veil  more  blind  ; 
The  soul,  scared  roughly  from  its  mansion,  glides 
O'er  mazy  wastes  through  which  the  meteor  guides. 

The  startled  menial,  who  alone  of  all 

The  hireling  pomp  that  swarms  in  Arden's  hall 

Attends  his  lords, — dismay'd  lest  one  so  high, 

Without  all  arts  that  fawn  on  death,  should  die, 

Departs  in  haste  to  seek  the  subtler  skill 

Which  Fashion  charters  with  the  right  to  kill. 

And  summons  Lucy  to  the  solemn  room 

To  watch  the  father's  life, — fast  by  the  mother's  tomb. 

Meanwhile  such  facile  arts  as  nature  yields, 

Draughts  from  the  spring  and  simples  from  the  field. 

Learned  in  his  savage  youth,  the  Indian  plies  j 

The  fever  slakes,  the  cloudy  darkness  flies  ! 

O'er  the  vex'd  vision  steals  the  lulling  rest, 

And  Arden  wakes  to  sense  on  Morvale's  breast ! 

On  Morvale's  breast! — and  through  the  noiseless  door 
A  fearful  footfall  creeps — and,  lo  !  once  more 


192  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Thou  look'st,  pale  daughter,  on  thy  father's  foe  ! 

Not  with  the  lurid  eye  and  lifted  blow ; 

Not  as  when  erst,  between  the  murtherous  blade 

And  the  proud  victim  gleam'd  the  guardian  maid — 

Thy  post  is  his ! — that  breast  the  prop  supplies 

That  thine  should  yield  ; — as  thine  so  watch  those  eyes, 

Wistful  and  moist,  that  waning  life  above  ; 

Recall  the  Heathen's  hate! — behold  the  Christian's  love! 

The  learned  leech  proclaims  the  danger  o'er  ; 
When  life  is  safe,  can  fate  then  harm  no  more? 

The  danger  past  for  Arden,  but  for  you 

Who  watch  the  couch — what  danger  threats  anew  ! 

How  meet  in  pious  duty  and  fond  care, 

In  hours  when  through  the  eye  the  heart  is  bare? 

How  join  in  those  soft  sympathies — and  yet 

The  earlier  link,  the  tenderer  bond  forget  ? 

How  can  the  soul  the  magnet-charm  withstand, 

Whence  chance  brings  look  to  look,  and  hand  to  hnnrl  ! 

No,  Indian,  no, — if  yet  thy  power  divine 

Above  the  laws  of  our  low  world  be  thine : 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  193 

If  yet  the  Honour  which  thy  later  creed 
Softens,  not  quells,  revere  the  injured  dead, 
Fly,  ere  the  full  heart  cries,  "  I  love  thee  still" — 
And  find  thy  guardian  in  the  angel — will  ! 
'That  power  was  his  ! 

Along  the  landscape  lay 
The  hazy  rime  of  winter's  dawning  day  ; 
Snake-like  the  curving  mists  betrayed  the  rill, 
The  last  star  gleamed  upon  the  Eastern  hill, 
Still  slept  beneath  the  leafless  trees  the  herd ; 
Still  mute  the  sharp  note  of  the  sunless  bird ; 
No  sound,  no  life ; — as  to  some  hearth,  bereft 
By  death,  of  welcome,  since  his  wanderings  left. 
Comes  back  the  traveller; — so  to  earth,  forlorn 
And  hushed,  and  sad,  returned  the  ungreeted  Morn  ! 

Forth  from  the  threshold  stole  the  Indian  ! — far 
Spread  the  dim  land  beneath  the  waning  star. 
Alas  !  how  wide  the  world  his  heart  will  find 
Who  leaves  one  spot — the  heart's  true  home,  behind ! 
He  paused — one  upward  look  upon  the  gloom 
Of  the  closed  casement,  the  love-hallowed  room 
17 


194  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Where  yet,  perchance,  while  happier  Suffering  slept, 
Its  mournful  vigil  lender  Duty  kept, 
One  prayer  ! — what  mercy  taught  us  prayer  ! — as  dews 
On  drooping  herbs — as  sleep  tired  life  renews, 
As  dreams  that  lead  and  lap  our  griefs  in  Heaven, 
Prayer  to  the  Soul,  dew,  sleep,  and  dream,  is  given  ! 
So  bowed,  not  broken,  and  with  manly  will, 
Onwards  he  strode,  slow  up  the  labouring  hill  ! 

If  Lucy  mourned  his  absence,  not  before 

Her  sire's  dim  eyes  the  face  of  grief  she  wore ; 

Haply  her  woman  heart  divined  the  spell 

Of  her  own  power,  by  flight  proclaim'd  too  well ; 

And  not  in  hours  like  these  may  self  control 

The  generous  empire  of  a  noble  soul  : 

Lo,  her  first  thought,  first  duty — the  soft  reign 

Of  Woman — patience  by  the  bed  of  pain  I 

As  mute  the  father,  yet  to  him  made  clear 

The  cause  of  flight  untold  to  Lucy's  ear ; 

Thus  ran  the  lines  that  met,  at  morn,  his  eyes : — 

*'  Farewell !  my  place  a  daughter  now  supplies  ! — 


THE   NEW  TIMON.  195 

Thou  hast  pass'd  the  gates  of  Death,  and  bright  once  more 

Smile  round  thy  steps  the  sunlight  and  the  shore ! 

Farewell ;  and  if  a  soul,  where  hatred's  gall 

Melts  into  pardon  that  embalmeth  all, 

Can  with  forgiveness  bless  thee ; — from  remorse 

Can  pluck  the  stone  which  interrupts  the  course 

Of  thought  to  God  ; — and  bid  the  waters  rest 

Calm  in  Heaven's  smile, — poor  fellow-man,  be  blest ! 

I,  that  can  aid  no  more,  now  need  an  aid 

Against  myself;  by  mine  own  thoughts  dismay'd  ; 

I  dare  not  face  thy  child — I  may  not  dare 

To  commune  with  my  heart — thy  child  is  there  ! 

I  hear  a  voice  that  whispers  hope,  and  start 

In  shame,  to  shun  the  tempter  and  depart ! 

How  vile  the  pardon  that  I  yield  would  seem, 

If  shap'd  and  colour'd  from  the  egoist's  dream  ; 

A  barter'd  compromise  with  thoughts  that  take 

The  path  of  conscience  but  for  passion's  sake — 

If  with  the  pardon  I  could  say — '  The  Tomb 

Devours  the  Past,  so  let  the  Moment  bloom. 

And  see  Calantha's  brother  reconcil'd, 

Kneel  to  Calantha's  lover,  for  his  child  !' 


196  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

It  may  not  be  ;  sad  sophists  were  our  vain 
Desires,  if  right  were  not  a  code  so  plain  ; 
In  good  or  ill  leave  casuists  on  shelf, 
*  He  never  errs  who  sacrifices  self!'  " 

Great  Natures,  Arden,  thy  strange  lot  to  know 

And  lose  ! — twin  souls  thy  mistress  and  thy  foe  ! 

How  flash'd  they,  high  and  starry,  through  the  dull 

World's  reeking  air — earnest  and  beautiful ! 

Erring  perchance,  and  yet  divinely  blind, 

Such  hero  errors  purify  our  kind  ! 

One  noble  fault  that  springs  from  Self's  disdain 

May  oft  more  grace  in  Angel  eyes  obtain. 

Than  a  whole  life,  without  a  seeming  flaw. 

Which  served  but  Heaven,  because  of  Earth  in  awe, 

Which  in  each  act  has  loss  or  profit  weighed, 

And  kept  with  Virtue  the  accounts  of  Trade ! 

He  too  was  born,  lost  Idler,  to  be  great. 

The  sins  that  dwarf'd,  he  had  a  soul  to  hate. 

Ambition,  Ease,  Example  had  beguiled. 

And  our  base  world  in  fawning  had  defiled ; 


THE   NEW  TIMON.  197 

Yet  still,  contrasting  all  he  did^  he  dreaw''d  ; 
And  through  the  Worldling's  life  the  Poet  gleam'd. 
His  eye  not  blind  to  Virtue  ;  to  his  ear 
Still  spoke  the  music  of  the  banished  sphere ; 
Still  in  his  thought  the  Ideal,  though  obscured, 
Sham'd  the  rank  meteor  which  his  sense  allur'd. 
Wreck  if  he  was,  the  ruin  yet  betray'd 
The  shatter'd  fane  for  gods  departed  made ; 
And  still,  through  weeds  neglected  and  o'erthrown. 
The  blurr'd  inscription  show'd  the  altar  stone ! 
So  scorn'd  he  not,  as  folly  or  as  pride. 
The  lofly  code  which  made  the  Indian's  guide ; 
But  from  that  hour  a  subtle  change  came  o'er 
The  thoughts  he  veil'd,  the  outward  mien  he  wore  ; 
A  mournful,  weary  gloom,  a  pall'd  distaste 
Of  all  the  joys  so  warmly  once  embraced. 
His  eye  no  more  loolc'd  onward;  but  its  gaze 
Rests  where  Remorse  a  life  misspent  surveys  : 
What  costly  treasures  strew  that  waste  behind  ; 
What  whirlwinds  daunt  the  soul  that  sows  the  wind  ! 
By  the  dark  shape  of  \vhat  he  is,  serene 
Stands  the  bright  ghost  of  what  he  might  have  been  : 
17* 


198  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Here  the  vast  loss,  and  there  the  worthless  gain — 
Vice  scorn'd,  yet  woo'd  and  virtue  lov'd  in  vain ! 

'Tis  said,  the  Nightingale,  who  hears  the  thrill 
Of  some  rich  lute,  made  vocal  by  sweet  skill, 
To  match  the  music  strains  its  wild  essay, 
Feels  its  inferior  art,  and  envying,  pines  away  : 
So,  waked  at  last,  and  scarcely  now  confest, 
Pined  the  still  Poet  in  the  Worldling's  breast ! 
So  with  the  Harmony  of  Good,  compared 
Its  lesser  self — so  languish'd  and  despaired. 

Awhile,  from  land  to  land  he  idly  roved, 

And  join'd  life's  movement  with  a  heart  unmoved. 

No  more  loud  cities  ring  with  Arden's  name. 

Applaud  his  faults,  and  call  his  fashion  "  Fame  !" 

Disgust  with  all  things  robes  him  as  he  goes, 

In  that  pale  Virtue,  Vice,  when  weary,  knows  ! 

Yet  his,  at  least,  one  rescue  from  the  past  ; 

His  one  pure  gem  ;  his  Lucy's  love  at  last  ! 

That  bed  of  pain  o'er  which  she  had  watch'd  and  wept- 

That  grave  where  Love  forgot  its  wrongs  and  slept  ? 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  199 

That  touching  sorrow  and  that  still  remorse 
Unlock'd  her  heart,  and  gave  the  stream  its  course. 
From  her  own  grief,  by  griefs  more  dark  beguil'd 
Rose  the  consoling  Angel  in  the  Child  ! 
Yet  still  the  calm  disease,  whose  mute  decay 
No  leech  arrests,  crept  gradual  round  its  prey  ! 
Death  came,  came  gently,  on  his  daughter's  breast 
Murm'ring,  "  Remember  where  this  dust  should  rest." 
They  bear  the  last  Lord  of  that  haughty  race 
Where  winds  the  wave  round  Mary's  dwelling-place 
And  side  by  side  (oh,  be  it  in  the  sky 
As  in  the  earth  !) — the  long-divided  lie  ! 

Doth  life's  last  act  one  wrong  at  least  repair — 
His  nameless  child  to  wealth  at  least  the  heir  ? 
So  Arden's  will  decreed — so  signed  the  hand  ; 
So  ran  the  text — not  so  Law  rules  the  land  : 
"  I  do  bequeath  unto  my  child,''* — that  word 


*  If  a  man  wishes  to  leave  a  portion  to  his  natural  child, 
his  lawyer  will  tell  him  to  name  the  child,  as  if  it  were  a 
stranger  to  his  blood.  If  he  says,  "  I  leave  to  John  Thomp- 
son, of  Baker  street,  10,000^.,"  John  Thompson  may  proba- 


200  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

Alone  on  strangers  has  the  wealth  conferr'd. 

O'erjoyed,  Law's  heirs  the  legal  blunder  read, 

And  Justice  cancels  Nature  from  the  deed. 

O  moral  world  !  deal  sternly  if  thou  wilt 

With  the  warm  weakness  as  the  wily  guilt ! 

But  spare  the  harmless  !     Wherefore  shall  the  child 

Be  from  the  pale  which  shelters  Crime  exiled  ? 

bly  get  the  legacy ;  if  he  says,"  I  leave  to  my  son  John 
Thompson^  of  Baker  street,  10,000/,"  and  the  said  John 
Thomson  is  his  son,  (a  statural  one,)  it  is  a  hundred  to  one  if 
John  Thompson  ever  touches  a  penny !  Up  springs  the  In- 
human Law,  with  its  multiform  obstacles,  quibbles,  and  ob- 
jections— proof  of  identity — evidence  of  birth ! — Many  and 
many  a  natural  child  has  thus  been  robbed  and  swindled 
out  of  his  sole  claim  upon  redress — his  sole  chance  of  sub- 
sistence. In  most  civilized  countries  a  Father  is  permitted 
to  own  the  offspring,  whom,  unless  he  does  so,  he  has 
wronged  at  its  very  birth — whom,  if  he  do  not  so,  he 
wrongs  irremediably;  with  us  the  error  is  denied  reparation 
and  innocence  is  sentenced  to  outlawry.  Our  Laws,  with 
relation  to  illegitimate  children,  are  the  most  infamous  viola- 
tion of  Humanity,  of  Justice,  of  Christian  Piety,  which 
Hypocrisy  has  yet  inflicted  upon  the  rights  of  Nature,  and 
the  Heart  of  Man. 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  201 

Why  heap  such  barriers  round  the  sole  redress 
Which  sin  can  give  to  sinless  wretchedness? 
Why  must  the  veriest  stranger  thrust  aside 
Our  flesh — our  blood,  because  a  name's  denied  ! 
Give  all  thou  hast  to  whomsoe'er  thou  please, 
Foe,  alien,  knave,  as  whim  so  Law  decrees  ; 
But  if  thy  heart  speaks,  if  thy  conscience  cries — 
*'  I  give  my  child" — the  Law  thy  voice  belies  ; 
All  meshes  balk  all  effort  that  atones. 
And  Justice  robs  the  wretch  that  Nature  owns  ! 

So  abject,  so  despoil'd,  so  penniless, 

Stood  thy  love-born  in  the  world's  wilderness, 

O  Lord  of  lands  and  towers,  and  princely  sway  ! 

O  Dust,  from  whom  with  breath  has  pass'd  away 

The  humblest  privilege  the  beggar  finds 

In  rags  that  wrap  his  infant  from  the  winds  ! 

In  the  poor  hamlet  where  her  grandsire  died, 
Where  sleeps  her  mother  by  the  magnate's  side, 


202  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

The  orphan  found  a  home.     Her  story  known, 
Men's  hearts  allow  the  right  men's  laws  disown. 
Though  lost  the  birthright,  and  denied  the  name. 
Her  pastor-grandsire's  virtues  shield  from  shame, 
As  flowers,  which  night,  when  day  is  o'er,  perfume. 
Breathes  the  sweet  memory  from  a  good  man's  tomb. 
Pity  seeks  kind  pretext  to  pour  its  balms. 
And  yields  light  toils  that  saves  the  pride  from  alms. 
A  soft  respect  the  orphan's  steps  attends, 
And  the  sharp  thorn  at  least  the  rose  defends. 
So  flows  o'ershadow'ed,  but  not  darksome,  by. 
Her  life's  lone  stream — the  banks  admit  the  sky. 
Day's  quiet  taskwork  o'er,  when  ev'ning  gray 
List  the  last  carol  on  the  quivering  spray, 
When  lengthening  shadows  glass  the  distant  hill, 
And  the  near  spire, 'upon  the  lulled  rill  ; 
Her  sole  delight  with  pensive  step  to  glide 
Along  the  path  that  winds  the  wave  beside, 
A  moment  pausing  on  the  bridge,  to  mark 
Perchance  the  moonliorht  vista  through  the  dark  : 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  203 

Or  watch  the  eddy  where  the  wavelets  play 
Round  the  chaf'd  stone  that  checks  their  happy  way, 
Then  onward  stealing,  vanish  from  the  view. 
Where  the  star  shimmers  on  the  solemn  yew, 
And  dim  boughs  broadening  o'er  the  mystic  sod, 
Clasp  the  blind  caves,  which  are  the  path  to  God ! 

Moons  passM — and  May  is  in  the  earth  and  sky  1 
May,  Time's  young  darling  with  the  mirthful  eye  ; 
With  whose  light  locks,  flower-crowned,  the  Graybeard 

toys. 
And  half  forgets  his  mission  in  her  joys  ; — 
May,  with  her  choir  of  happy  birds  above ; 
May,  whose  least  whisper  wakes  the  world  to  love  ; 
May,  when  the  Young  see  hope  and  pleasure  flower 
Out  of  each  leaf  that  weaves  her  bridal  bower. 
And  Age  itself,  made  young, — through  amourous  boughs. 
Sees  the  lost  smile  and  lists  the  silenced  vows  ! 
And  does  not  May,  lone  child,  revive  in  thee, 
Blossom  and  bud  and  mystic  melody  ; 
Does  not  the  heart,  like  earth,  imbibe  the  ray  ? 
Does  not  the  year's  recall  thy  life's  sweet  May  ? 


204  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

When  like  an  altar  to  some  happy  bride, 
Shone  all  creation  by  the  loved  one's  side  ? 

Yes,  Exile,  yes — that  Empire  is  thine  own, 
Rove  where  thou  wilt,  awaits  thee  still  thy  throne  ! 
Lo,  where  the  paling  cheek,  the  unconscious  sigh, 
The  slower  footstep,  and  the  heavier  eye, 
Betray  the  burden  of  sweet  thoughts  and  mute, 
The  slight  tree  bows  beneath  the  golden  fruit ! 

'Tis  eve.     The  orphan  gains  the  holy  ground, 

And  halts  and  harks ; — the  boughs  that  circle  round 

Vex'd  by  no  wind,  yet  rustle  with  a  sound. 

As  if  that  gentle  foot  had  scared  some  lone 

Unwonted  foot  more  timid  than  her  own! 

All  still  once  more ;  perchance  some  daunted  bird, 

That  loves  the  night,  the  murmuring  leaves  had  stirr'd? 

She  nears  the  tomb — amaze  ! — what  hand  unknown 

Has  placed  those  pious  flowers  upon  the  stone ! 

Why  beats  her  heart ;  why  hath  the  electric  mind, 

Whose  act,  whose  hand,  whose  presence  there,  divined  ? 


THE  NEW  TIMON.  205 

Why  dreading,  yearning,  turn  those  eyes  to  meet 
The  adored,  the  lost  ? — Behold  him  at  her  feet ! 
His,  those  dark  eyes  that  seek  his  own  through  tears, 
His  hand  that  clasps,  and  his  the  voice  she  hears, 
Broken  and  faltering — "  Is  the  trial  past? 
Here,  by  the  dead,  art  thou  made  mine  at  last? 
Far — in  far  lands  I  heard  thy  tale  ! — And  thou 
Orphan  and  lone  ! — no  bar  between  us  now  ! 
No  Arden  now  calls  up  the  wrong'd  and  lost  ; 
Lo,  in  this  grave  appeas'd  the  upbraiding  ghost ! 
Orphan,  I  am  thy  father  now  ! — Bereft 
Of  all  beside, — this  heart  at  least  is  left. 
Forgive,  forgive — Oh,  can'st  thou  yet  bestow 
One  thought  on  him,  to  whom  thou  art  all  below  ? 
Who  could  desert  but  to  remember  more? 
Can'st  thou  the  Heaven,  the  exile  lost,  restore  ? 

Can'st  thou " 

The  orphan  bow'd  her  angel  head  ; 
Breath  blent  with  breath — her  soul  her  silence  said  ; 
Eye  unto  eye,  and  heart  to  heart  reveal'd  ; 
And  lip  on  lip  the  eternal  nuptials  seal'd ! 
18 


206  THE  NEW  TIMON. 

The  Moon  breaks  forth — one  silver  stream  of  light 
Glides  from  its  fount  in  heaven  along  the  night — 
Flows  in  still  splendour  thro'  the  funeral  gloom 
Of  yews, — and  broadens  as  it  clasps  the  tomb — 
Thro'  the  calm  glory  hosts  as  calm  above 
Look  on  the  the  grave — and  by  the  grave  is  Love  ! 


THE  END. 


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Magazine. 

"Dr.  Griswold  has  performed  the  duties  of  his  iindertakins;  with  a 
diligence,  a  taste,  and  a  discrimination  which  we  doubt  wheiher  any 
man  in  this  country  could  have  equalled." — Home  Journal. 

"  Which  cannot  flul  to  please  the  intelligent  reader." — Baltimore 
American. 

"  Like  Shakspeare,  it  is  not  for  a  day,  but  for  all  time." — N.  Y.  Mirror. 

"  Anything  from  Mr.  Griswold  is  welcomed  as  coming  irom  an  old 
and  tried  friend  of  the  public'  — Newark  Advertiser. 

OR, 

A  TALE  OF  THE  SOUTH-WESTERN  COUNTIES, 
BIT  FRANK  rORESTEB., 

AUTHOR  OF   *'THE  WARWICK  WOODLANDS,"   "  MY  SHOOTING-BOX," 

**  FIELD  SPORTS  OF  AMERICA,"  ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 

In  One  Volume,  12mo.     Price  50  Cents. 

18* 


THE  LIFE 

OF 

MAJOR  GENERAL  PETER  MUHLENBERG, 

OF  THE 

REVOLUTIONARY  ARMY. 

BY  Hli'NRT  A.  MUHLENBERG. 
IN  ONE  VOLUME,  12mo. 

WITH  A  PORTEAIT. 

"  The  perusal  of  this  volume  has  proved  a  great  treat  to  us," 
"  We  rather  devoured  than  read  it,  and,  in  two  sittings,  every  sylla- 
ble and  word  in  the  book  came  under  our  eye,  and  we  regretted  that 
the  vohjme  was  not  twice  as  large.  It  is  the  General's  mililary  life 
merely  which  is  narrated;  but  this  is  exceedingly  interesting,  and  in  it 
many  important  Revolutionary  incidents  are  detailed  which  have  never 
before  fiillen  under  our  notice.  The  author  has  executed  his  task  with 
considerable  ability;  he  is  never  tedious,  always  interestmg  and  in- 
structive, and  the  public  will  doubtle.*s  evince  their  high  appreciation 
of  the  merits  of  the  publication  by  buying  up  the  first  edition  m  a  very 
short  time." — Lutheran  Observer. 

FOR  THE  USE  OF 

PRIMAKY  AND  SECONDARY  SCHOOLS. 
BY  L.  BEi\TZ,  OF  FRANCE, 

DIRECTOR  OF  THE  NORMAL  PRIMARY  SCHOOL  OF  THE  MUERTHE,  MEMBER  OF  ROYAL 
AND  CENTRAL  SOCIETIES.  OF  NANCY  AND  AURILLIAC, 

AND 

A.  J.  CRETIEN  DE  ROVILLE, 

PROFESSOR  OF  RURAL  ECONOMY  IN  THE  SAME  SCHOOL,  MEMBER  OF  AGRICULTURAL 

SOCIETY  OF  NANCY,  ETC.  ETC. 

TRANSLATED  AND  ADAPTED  TO  THE  USE    OF    THE    RURAL    PRIMARY 

SCHOOLS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 

BY    F.    G.    SKINNER. 

"The  above  work  fully  supplies  all  these  deficiencies,  and  we  en- 
dorse the  remarks  made  by  C.  Mandel  in  his  reptjri  to  the  Central 
Agricultural  Society  of  the  Muerthe  in  France,  that  the  teacher  may 
with  confidenco'draw  on  its  pages  lor  all  that  seems  to  he  of  primary 
necessity  for  himself  first,  and  then  for  the  children  or  adults  com- 
mitted to  his  care.  He  might  with  equal  justice  have  added,  that  it 
should  be  a  text-book  in  every  school  in  our  country  ;  that  every  agri- 
culturist would,  in  studying  its  contents,  derive  pleasure  from  their 
perusal,  and  profit  from  their  practical  application."— i?a/^i/nore  Ame- 
rican. 


A   MAN  MADE   OF    MONEY. 

A  NOVEL. 

BY    DOUGLAS    JERROLD. 

AUTHOR  OF  "MRS.  CAUDLE'S  CURTAIN  LECTURES,"   "STORY  OF  A  FEATHER,"  ETC.  ETC. 

Complete  in  One  Volume.     Price  25  Cents. 

"The  very  commencement  of  the  volume  testifies  to  having  been 
written  by  the  same  hand  that  penned  the  "Candle  Lecun-es,"  of 
popular  memory.  Its  accuracy  as  a  daguerrotype  of  donieslu-  happi- 
ness can  be  testified  to  by  more  than  one  husband  who  sufTei.s  his 
family  to  live  beyond  their  means,  that  the  wile  and  daughters  may 
struggle  up  to  a  circle  a  little  above  their  own." — Saturday  Post. 


VALERIE, 

A  TALE. 
BY  THE  LATE   CAPTAIN   MARRYAT,  R.  N., 

AUTHOR  OF  "PETEE  SIMPLE,"  ETC.  ETC. 
COMPLETED  BY  A  LITERARY  GENTLEMAN. 

In  One  Volume.      Price  25  Cents. 

"  A  new  work  by  Capt.  Marryat  must  always  be  attractive.  This  is 
his  last  work.  He  commenced  it,  but  death,  which  came  upon  him 
whilst  he  was  engaged  in  it,  did  not  allow  him  to  complete  it.  '  A  lite- 
rary gentleman,  has  taken  it  in  charge,  and  finished  the  slory.  There 
is  an  invention,  a  humour,  and  a  vigour  about  all  Capt.  Marryat's 
writings  which  gave  to  them  a  particular  charm,  that  at  once  takes 
hold  of  the  reader  and  carries  him  to  the  end." — Western  Continent. 


STRAY   SUBJECTS, 
ARRESTED  AND  BOUND  OVER; 

BEING  THE  FUGITIVE  OFFSPRING  OF  THE 

''OLD  'UK-,"  AKTD  THE  "YOU3Xra  'UN." 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  DARLEY. 

"  The  two  wittiest  sketch-writers  in  the  country." 
"  Sketches  which  have  had  a  wide  circulation  and  popularity." — iV. 
Y.  Sunday  Atlas. 


t  (Bnn]itipeMa  d  CljrniiHtn|. 

THEORETICAL  AND  PRACTICAL 

PRESENTING  A  COMPLETE  AND  EXTENDED    VIEW    OF    THE    PRESENT 
STATE  OF 

CHEMICAL  SCIENCE. 

BY  ja:.ies  c.  booth, 

MEMBER  OF  THE  AMERICAN  PHILOSOPHICAL  SOCIETY;  PROFESSOR  OF  TECHNICAL 
CHEMISTRY  IN  THE  FRANKLIN  INSTITUTE,  ETC.  ETC. 

ASSISTED  BY 

CAMPBELL  MORFIT, 

PRACTICAL  AND  ANALYTIC  CHEMIST ;   AUTHOR  OF  "APPLLED  CHEMISTRY,    "CHESICAL 
MANIPULATIONS,"  ETC. 


SHEEP  HUSBANDRY  IN  THE  SOUTH; 

COMPRISING  A  TREATISE  ON  THE 

ACCLIMATION  OF  SREEP  IN  THE  SOUTHERN  STATUS, 

AND 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  DIFFERENT  BREEDS; 

ALSO, 

A  Complete  Manual  of  Erced'ng,  Summer  and  Winlrr 
Maiif  gement,  and  of  the  Treatment  of  Diseases. 

AVITH  PORTRAITS  AND  OTHER  ILLUSTRATIONS. 
IN    A    SERIES    OF    LETTERS    FROM 

HENRY  S.   RANDALL,   ESQ., 

OF  COURTLAND  VILLAGE,  N.  Y. 


CAEEY  &  HART  HAVE  RECENTLY  PUBLISHED 
A    NARRATIVE    OF    THE 

LATE  EXPEDITION  TO  THE  DEAD  SEA, 

FROM  A  DIARY  BY  ONE  OF  THE  PARTY. 

EDITED    BY    EDWARD    P.    MONTAGUE, 
(Attached  to  the  United  States  Expedition  Ship  Supply )    ' 

WITH  INCIDENTS  OF  TRAVEL  FROM  THE  TIME  OF  THE  SAILING  OF  THE  EXPEDITION, 

IN  18-47,  TILL  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  SAME,  IN  18-18,  ACCOMPANIED 

BY  A  COLOURED  MAP  OF  THE  HOLY  LAND, 

In  One  Vol.,  Post  Octavo,  348  pages,  Cloth  Gilt,  $1  00. 

NOTICES  OF  THE  WORK. 
"The  results  of  that  Expedition,  we  are  satisfied  from  what  has 
already  appeared  in  the  public  prints  upon  the  subject,  are  of  a  cha- 
racter highly  honourable  to  the  American  Navy,  and  of  great  impor- 
tance to  general  science.  To  that  INavy,  the  world  is  indtbted  for  the 
first  complete  exploration  of  that  distant  and  unknown  sea,  whose 
dangers  had  baffled,  hitherto,  the  enthusiasm  of  individual  enterprise, 
and  the  well-concerted  plans  of  more  than  one  national  undertaking. 
The  veil  which  has  for  ages  hidden  its  mysterious  coasts  from  the  eyes 
of  the  scientific  world,  has  at  length  been  raised,  and  its  bays  and 
headlands,  its  shores  and  its  soundings,  its  tributary  streams  and  bor- 
dering mountains  now  lie  before  .us  mapped  out  with  minutest  preci- 
sion ;  while  its  geological,  mineral,  and  vegetable  peculiarities  are 
equally  open  to  our  closest  scrutiny,  from  the  Judean  Mountains  to  the 
rocky  summits  of  Moab;  from  where  the  Jordan  loses  its  waves  in  the 
salt  and  sluggish  flood,  to  where  the  mingling  waters  of  t.l  Jeib  are 
ruffled  by  the  hot  breath  of  the  Arabian  winds,  and  will  soon  be  fimi- 
liar  ground  ,•  and  the  pilgrim  of  science,  the  student  of  sacred  history, 
and  the  lover  of  oriental  research,  may  in  the  quiet  seclusion  of  their 
homes,  traverse  with  confidence  its  deserted  shores,  and  sound  its 
dense  depths,  and  walk  its  chrystalized  floor.  When  we  reflect  that  this 
hazardous  enterprise  has  been  accomplished  by  a  handful  of  American 
seamen,  we  cannot  forbear  the  expression  of  a  just  pride  in  the  service 
which  originated,  and  which  has  so  successfully  prosecuted  this  im- 
portant design," — Cummirigs'  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  Messrs.  Carey  &  Hart  have  just  published  a  Narrative  of  the  late 
Expedition  to  the  Dead  Sea,  compiled  from  the  Diary  of  one  of  the 
party.  It  is  filled  with  incidents  and  adventures,  and  is  handsomely 
illustrated  with  maps,  &c.,  and  altogether  one  of  the  most  interesting 
books  we  have  lately  come  across:'— Pittsburg  Daily  Despatch. 

"  It  occupies  a  volume  of  over  three  hundred  pages,  and  is  from  a 
Diary  by  one  of  the  party.  It  is  illustrated  by  a  Map  of  the  Holy 
Land,  handsomely  coloured,  and  furnishes  interesting  sketches  of  in- 
cidents and  adventures,  from  the  time  of  the  sailing  of  the  Expedition 
in  November,  1847,  until  the  return  of  the  same  in  December,  1848. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining  publications  of  the  day.  It  is 
printed  in  good  style,  and  is  handsomely  bound."— PAiZa.  Inquirer  and 
Courier. 


"This  is  a  very  agreeable  and  entertaining  work,  presenting  life  in 
new  aspects,  even  where,  as  on  shipboard,  it  has  been  already  so 
much  written  about.  The  deeper  interest  of  the  Narrative  begins  with 
the  start,  or  rather  tlie  first  attempt  to  start,  over  the  mountains  of  Syria 
for  the  great  scene  of  the  labours  of  the  Expedition  lo  the  Dead  Sea. 
The  voyage  from  Lake  Tiberias,  where  the  boats  safely  arrived  by  land- 
carnage,  down  the  rapid  and  winding  Jordan,  with  the  leaps  over  the 
numerous  falls;  the  spectacle  of  the  thousands  of  pilgrims  bathing  in 
the  Jordan,  in  the  celebration  of  the  baptism  of  Jesus;  the  explora- 
tions of  the  mysterious  Dead  Sea;  all  this  is  described  in  a  rapid, 
sketchy  manner  indeed,  but  furnishing  a  good  outline  of  things." — 
Christian  Register. 

"The  book  is  an  interesting  one,  and  among  persons  who  take 
pleasure  in  the  explorations  of  this  Expedition  will  meet  with  ready 
sale." — The  City  Item. 

"  It  tells  the  incidents  of  the  voyage,  and  of  the  explorations  of  the 
party,  in  an  easy,  gossiping  style,  and  is  altogether  a  most  entertaining 
book.  The  writer  seems  to  have  settled  in  his  own  mind  that  the 
Dead  Sea  covers  the  site  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  and  even  believes 
that  the  pillar  of  salt  is  the  true  representation  of  Lot's  wile.  VVhelher 
he  is  right  or  wrong,  it  will  trouble  any  one  to  prove  that  his  opinions 
are  incorrect," — Evening  Bulletin. 

LIFE   OF   ROBESPIERRE. 

THE  LIFE  OP  MAXIMILIAN  ROBESPIERRE, 

■WITH 

EXTRACTS  FROM  HIS  CORRESPONDENCE. 

BY  G.  H.  LEWES, 

AUTHOR  OF   THE  BIOGRAPHICAL  HISTORY  OF   PHILOSOPHY,   ETC.,   12  mO. 

"  This  is  a  carefully  written  biography  of  a  remark. ibif  m.in.  The 
author  has  had  access  to  the  best  published  and  unpublished  materials 
for  his  work,  and  he  has  executed  it  with  great  ability  and  impartial- 
ity."— Scott's  Weekly. 

"The  work  is  a  lively  and  entertaining  one,  and  will  be  generally 
read  and  admired  fur  the  candour  and  sprightliness  of  the  detail." — 
The  City  Item. 

"  We  apprehend  that  from  this  volume  will  be  gathered  a  more 
thorough  knowledge  of  Robespierre's  character  than  has  yet  been  ac- 
cessible to  the  general  reader." — Commercial  Advertiser. 

CAREY  &  HART,  Publishers, 

No.  126  Chestnut  Street. 

THE  MISCELLANEOUS   WRITINGS 

OF 

LEIGH     HUNT. 

IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


iiKiniiDi  ik^u  (gM/ai/aei 


BT 

PROFESSOR  WILSON. 

AUTHOR  OF  "  MISCELLANIES,"  ETC. 

THREE    HOURS 

OR 

THE   ViaiL   OF    I.OVX3, 

AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

BY 

MRS.  SARAH  J.  HALE. 

(In  One  Volume,  16mo.    Price  75  cents.) 

JAM'S    FORTNIGHT    RAMBLE, 

AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

BY 

THOMAS  MACKELLAR. 

(Tn  One  Volume,  16mo.    Price  75  cents.) 

"Many  truly  beautiful  extracts  might  be  made  from  the  miscella- 
neous poems.  The  following  we  have  read  over  twice  :  there  is  such 
a  sweet  naturalness  in  it,  so  much  friendliness,  and  good  verse  withal, 
that  a  man  may  read  it  over  a  dozen  times,  and  find  it  somehow  fresh 
in  his  heart  the  last  time."—  The  Ninettenth  Century. 


BY 

LOUISA  S.   M'CORD. 

A  VOLUME  OF  POEMS. 
(In  One  Volume,  16mo.    Price  75  cents.) 


HISTORICAL   AND  SECRET  MEMOIRS 

OF  THE 

EMPRESS    JOSEPHINE, 

(Marie  Rose  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie,) 

FIRST  WIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

BY 

MLLE.  M.  A.  LE  NORMAND. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  BY  JACOB  M.  HOWARD,  ESQ. 

(In  2  vols.,  700  pages,  muslin  extra  gilt.) 

"  It  possesses  great  intrinsic  interest.  It  is  a  chequered  exhibition 
of  the  undress  life  ol  Napoleon.  All  the  glitter  and  pomp  and  dust  of 
ghjry  which  bewilder  the  mind  is  laid:  and  we  behold  not  the  hero, 
the  emperor,  the  guide  and  moulder  ot'destuiy,  but  a  poor  sickly  child 
and  creature  of  circumstance— affrighted  by  shadows  and  tortured  by 
straws." — Fhila.  City  Item. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  works  of  the  day,  containing  a 
multiplicity  of  incidents  ni  the  life  of  Josephine  and  her  renowned 
husband,  which  have  never  before  been  in  print."— iV.  O.  Tnnes. 

"  This  is  a  work  of  high  and  commanding  interest,  and  derives  great 
additional  value  from  the  fact  asserted  by  the  authoress,  thai  the 
greater  portion  of  it  was  wriUen  by  the  Kmpress  herself  It  has  a  viist 
amount  of  information  on  the  subject  of  Napoleon's  career,  with  copies 
of  original  documents  not  to  be  found  elsewhere,  and  with  copious 
notes  at  the  end  of  the  work  " — N.  O.  Com.  Bulletin. 

"  Affords  the  reader  a  clearer  insight  into  the  private  character  o^ 
Napoleon  than  he  can  obtain  through  any  other  source.^'— Baltimore 
American. 

"They  are  agreeably  and  well  written  ;  and  it  would  be  strange  if 
it  were  not  so,  enjoving  as  Josephine  did,  ^miliar  colloquial  inter- 
course w  ith  the  most  distinguished  men  and  minds  of  the  age.  The 
work  does  not,  apparently,  suffer  by  translation."— i^a/^/more  Patriot. 

"  It  is  the  history— in  part  the  secret  history,  written  by  her  own 
hand  with  rare  elegance  and  force,  and  at  times  with  surpassing 
pathos- of  the  remarkable  woman  who,  by  the  greatness  of  her  spirit 
was  worthy  to  be  the  wife  of  the  soaring  Napoleon.  It  combines  all 
the  value  of  authentic  history  with  the  absorbing  interest  of  an  auto- 
biography or  exciting  romance." — Item. 


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